


A Treatise on Forgiveness: (And Coming Home)

by imagineagreatadventure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEEE, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Forgiveness, Friendship, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jaime is an idiot, Minor Gendrya, Pining, Post - A Game of Thrones, Post-Season/Series Finale, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Redemption, Slow Burn, Tournaments, Tumblr Prompt, but he's not stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-02 19:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineagreatadventure/pseuds/imagineagreatadventure
Summary: Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Evenstar,I hope you are doing well now that you’ve settled on your island. The King wants to know if you need anything  — although I’m sure he already knows if you do or not. But he does like to keep courtesies, our King.He worries over you though, Ser. He knows you have not accepted any hand yet — and you need heirs.If you are amenable — I have a suggestion. . .





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> An Anon on Tumblr prompted me with "Coming Home" for Jaime x Brienne so of course I took it upon myself to try to tie all of season 8 back into something that made sense. Which is why this isn't a one-shot as I originally wanted it to be -- I have a feeling this story could be done in 3 chapters or in 30. Let's hope for 3 so we know it'll be finished haha. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story. It's a little sad at first but I promise it'll get better.

The island loomed.

Her home — mountainous and green and full of people that she had not seen in years. Brienne did not dare to look at it too long, remembering something **_he_ **said when…

 _It didn’t matter now,_ she decided, listening as the sailors called out orders, watching as the sails were lowered. Brienne could see the docks now and, if she squinted, the people working on them. The oars were taken out inside the ship and she chose to watch them dip into the sapphire waters, gliding them to their destination.

Anything would be better than looking at the island where her father was now buried.

* * *

King Bran ordered her to give up the Lord Commander position once they all knew of her father’s demise. She did not want to — she wanted to hold tight onto her duty. If she let go of this, she would be an unmarried _freak_ again instead of the first _lady knight_ , the Lord Commander of King Bran the Wise (or the Broken depending on who was asked). The people of Tarth wouldn’t care of her battles with the dead, they wouldn’t care about a sword tapping her shoulders in the firelight, nor a man kissing her — _wanting_ her after realizing they could have died in the Long Night.

The people would only care that she was back after years without a husband — that she only had steel in her hand instead of a babe.

It mattered little that it was _Valyrian steel._

In truth, Tarth was not a happy place. Brienne loved the island but did not like it much — it had been easy to give it up to serve Renly, to serve Lady Catelyn, to serve Lady Sansa, and to serve King Bran. _So many vows…_ a familiar voice chimed in her head and she ignored him. She sat down at her father’s desk and nodded at the steward who handed her papers and papers and more papers to look over.

She wrote letters to Lord Baratheon, who was still unmarried himself, still longing after a slight Northern girl who had been gone for nigh two years. She did not dare pity Gendry though — for if she pitied him, she would pity herself more, and she did not have time to feel sorry for herself. Instead, she had to determine who wasn’t paying their taxes, why there was money missing from the treasury, who the next Master of Arms should be for the latest died of the same pox that took her father. There were also mentions of marriages and betrothals buried at the bottom of the pile but Brienne refused to look at those — she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

If Podrick had not been chosen by King Bran to be the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Brienne would have chosen him to be her heir, but Bran said that he would not release Podrick Payne for that — and there should be Tarths on Tarth, not Paynes.

King Bran could not see the future quite clearly, he told her so when she asked one day, when the spring sun was high in the sky, but he could see glimpses on his best days. “I cannot control it,” he promised her, knowing what truths she sought. “I would have warned you all if I had known of what she would do. Although…” he smiled and her hackles raised, “would you have listened?” Brienne was not sure if she would have. Who would have believed the Dragon Queen to be all fire and blood after all? Sansa had never trusted the Targaryen but even Lady Sansa seemed to be surprised by the carnage inflicted on King’s Landing. 

And the carnage was why Queen Sansa begged Brienne to stay with King Bran. “Our men do not do well south of the neck — and he may say he is not Bran any longer, but he is to me, Ser Brienne. Please protect him as you have protected me. I charge you with this, if you will accept it,” Queen Sansa asked, fear hiding in her steely blue eyes.

Brienne swore and it was with a heavy heart that she wrote a letter to Lady Sansa, revealing what had happened — that King Bran removed her from his service due to her father’s death. Queen Sansa understood. Or so she said in her letter, kind words overflowing the page.

Brienne missed the Stark Queen — she had grown used to Sansa’s false coldness, for, if you knew Sansa well, there was as much warmth in her as there was in a fire. They both used their words as a shield — as _armor_ and so they understood one another better than Brienne had ever been understood by anyone ( _save one_ ).

Brienne had never wished to leave her friend.

 _Not that it mattered now,_ she reflected, staring at a letter from Lord Tyrion. She ached to throw it in the fire.

She and Lord Tyrion rarely spoke outside the small council chambers — half of the time she felt as if she was a septa for the council, lecturing them on morality and basic manners. They rarely listened to her advice — other than Ser Davos, who usually took her side. Samwell Tarly did as well for as long as he was Archmaester, which lasted about as long as Gilly’s pregnancy (which led to a little girl named Shireen) — the maesters in the Citadel did not want a family man in their service and not even King Bran could dissuade them. 

Lord Bronn of Highgarden only laughed at her when she spoke up and she sometimes hated him for it, but then other times he would look at her with open pity and she hated him for that even more. Tyrion avoided her gaze as much as he could muster, instead often seeking advice from Lord Bronn and Lady Yara (who was the new Master of War) when he needed it.

Brienne avoided them all — only spending time with Ser Podrick and the King. The early months were difficult, searching for the new Master of Laws (who ended up being Samwell Tarly after the Citadel revoked him). Master of Whisperers was perhaps the most difficult of all to fill until Bran declared he didn’t need one — since he was the Three-Eyed Raven _. What use was a spymaster when the King could be everywhere?_

She looked at Lord Tyrion’s letter again and bit the inside of her cheek.

> _Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Evenstar,_
> 
> _I hope you are doing well now that you’ve settled on your island. The King wants to know if you need anything — although I’m sure he already knows if you do or not. But he does like to keep courtesies, our King._
> 
> _He worries over you though, Ser. He knows you have not accepted any hand yet — and you need heirs._
> 
> _If you are amenable — I have a suggestion._

Brienne was not amenable but kept reading anyhow.

> _Please do me the honor of accepting the hand of a lesser Lannister cousin. He is a good man, perhaps not as handsome as I, but he will serve you well. He is not ambitious and he will treat you with courtesy and kindness._
> 
> _Better than my brother did._
> 
> _Forgive me if that was too far, Lady Evenstar, but we have never dared to broach the topic before and I find that wine and distance gives me courage. He loved you, Brienne, but he was not whole. My cousin is whole and while you may never love him like you love Jaime —_

Brienne stopped reading, tears pricking her eyes. She refused to cry over _him_. She hadn’t cried over him since she learned of his fate from Tyrion. Dying with his sister — his queen — his love. Why did Tyrion have to point out she still loved Jaime?

After brushing her eyes with the back of her hand, ignoring how her hands were now slightly moist, she kept reading.

> _\-- like you love Jaime — you may learn to love him. He is a better Lannister than the rest, I can assure you._
> 
> _I can promise you, Brienne, he will never harm you. I doubt he would even keep a mistress for he has always been loyal and i know you value loyalty above all._

_Not above all,_ she thought, remembering how she told Jaime to “Fuck loyalty” and almost laughed on remembering how shocked he had been when those words crossed her lips.

Brienne missed him truly. She always missed him — she wished she had longer than a month with him at Winterfell. But not even a lifetime would have satisfied her, if she was honest with herself. And she knew she never had a lifetime.

It was not even his bed that she missed, but everything about him. She missed his terrible japes, his way of hiding his worries with smirks and smiles, how he looked at her so softly when he thought she wasn’t aware — until they had bedded and he looked at her even softer then she had ever dreamed.

And then she remembered the cruel expression that crossed his face as she sobbed, how he took his horse and left her and then shook off the thoughts of Jaime Lannister. She tired of remembering his handsome face, his cruelties, his kindness — so she read on:

> _Promise that you will give my cousin a chance — write me back and promise me this and I shall send him your way._
> 
> _A Lannister Always Pays Their Debts, after all, and I rather think we owe you a large one._
> 
> _Your friend,_
> 
> _Tyrion Lannister_

She had never thought of Tyrion as a friend, but touched his signature with a small smile. He always liked her, she knew, if only because she was not Cersei — if only because she loved Jaime as he did. If only because she saw Jaime as he did.

And for that reason only — she wrote back:

> _Tyrion,_
> 
> _I must meet this man before I agree to anything._
> 
> _Ser Brienne, Evenstar of Tarth_

* * *

It took several goblets of wine for Brienne to find the courage to finally give the letter to her maester who sent it promptly afterward. She fretted over it for days until Tyrion’s reply promised her that his cousin would be here in two months.

She chose not to fret any longer — her people did not need an heir now as much as they needed her and so she went back to work. Trade was poor due to some complicated Essosi politics — it seemed Meereen was still refusing to trade with Westeros — and so were its sister-cities that had been freed by the late Dragon Queen. Meereen’s ruler, the former lover of Danaerys, wanted to punish the Six Kingdoms for killing his Queen.

Brienne, with the King’s permission, tried to open a dialogue as the reigning Evenstar, through letters and, once, an emissary, with the Meereen ruler but he refused to respond to her letters and her emissary was thrown out as soon as he arrived, according to his letter.

This was becoming a larger problem for all of the Six Kingdoms and Brienne wrote to Lord Tyrion to tell him so. She advised that Ser Davos go and treat with the Meereenese — for she had never met a man (or woman) that didn’t like Ser Davos. Especially if this ruler had once been a sellsword as was rumored — she imagined a sellsword and a smuggler would get along just fine.

Her thoughts were so focused on this issue that the two months passed without her notice and soon a ship with Lannister sails arrived in the harbor. She was already at the harbor that day, by chance, speaking to the harbormaster about expanding the docks when the golden lion on a red sail appeared in the corner of her eye.

She hated that lion.

A crowd of dockworkers gathered to watch the Lannister men dock and set the plank. A lump arose in Brienne’s throat and she had to look away, already tired of the red and gold. “Excuse me,” she said to the harbormaster and left the sight. She knew she should greet them all as the Evenstar but could not muster the will to fulfill her duty. She was too old and too tired to care what they thought of her — and she was sure she had heard worse.

And if this man, this Lannister cousin, was as dependable as Tyrion promised then it would not matter in any case.

He would do his duty if she willed it.

Although she did not will it at all.

* * *

The steward, after her bidding, orchestrated a feast for the Lannister men at arms and her possible betrothed. It was put together quickly and the sheer amount of food made Brienne’s mouth turn downward. It was too much food in her opinion but her steward had worn her down. “They are Lannisters,” he said, raising a brow. “They expect it all. And they do pay their debts.”

But Brienne could only think of the orphaned children that lived on the island that struggled with empty bellies. King Bran had plans for educating all children, something Ser Davos suggested, but there was still not enough food in the whole of the Six Kingdoms for the starving. Most of the valued farmers and workers had perished after the everlasting wars and all that were left after the carrion birds had their feast were _children_. Tarth had fared better than most — her father had kept most of their people out of the fray once Renly had perished by Stannis’ shadow — but the wars touched everyone in some ways.

And many refugees came to her island looking for peace. In truth, Tarth was more crowded than it had been before in her childhood — when Robert Baratheon was King.

Her newly aspiring betrothed professed to be one of those looking for peace. “I’m only little better than a Lannister of Lannisport” he japed before tearing into his turkey leg with such fierceness that a fleck of the meat flew onto Brienne’s cheek. She pushed it aside with a sigh and suddenly missed Tormund (of all people).

Although, a part of her wished she could look sideways and Jaime would be there, waiting to watch her expression, a hidden jape on his tongue and in his eyes. But when she looked, he wasn’t there.

He was gone.

Ser Daven was not a bad man — although he was not what Brienne thought of when she thought of a Lannister. There were no powerful green eyes, no golden tresses, no beautiful face. He possessed a pug nose, hazel eyes, and his hair was closer to her straw-colored locks than to Cersei’s golden.

Brienne liked him just fine — he was not unkind, Tyrion was right about that. And he was honest and jovial and the more she thought on it, the more he did remind her of Tormund — if Tormund had been brought up as a Lannister.

No wonder Jaime had known how to handle the wildling.

“So, my lady,” Daven said but she put a hand up to stop him.

“It is Ser.”

“Ah yes,” a frown creased his features and he looked unsure for the first time since he arrived. “I know… I know my cousin knighted you.”

“And that I was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“Yes, I am aware,” a smile bloomed on Ser Daven’s lips then disappeared. “Tyrion did not tell me all of what happened between you and my cousin and, frankly, I do not wish to hear it. We can keep our secrets and live our lives as man and wife if you shall have me.”

Brienne could have easily said yes. She opened her mouth intending to do so, for he was as good of a man she was ever going to have, as close to Jaime as she’d ever have — but still what came out of her mouth was, “I am sorry, Ser Daven, I cannot. Please stay here on Tarth as long as you would like — my home is open to you and your men.”

Ser Daven’s eyes crinkled. “It is all right, lady knight. My cousin is a difficult act to follow. Although, I will say he was always a pain in the ass but I’m sure you know that just as well.”

A flush crossed Brienne’s cheeks and Ser Daven laughed then called for more ale. ( _“The lady knight certainly needs it.”_ )

* * *

Ser Daven did not seek her out after that and Brienne learned later that he brought a local girl into his bed that very night. The thought did not bother her — she was rather relieved although the maid who told her of the rumor seemed to expect her to be sorry. All of Tarth expected her to marry this man and so when she denied him, the expectations only grew higher.

The only place Brienne could find solace was in the training yard in the middle of the night, practicing her steps, her jumps, her movements, her slashes as the moonlight guided her path alongside shadows. The darkness always reminded her of another night full of death and ice and so she held onto the pommel of her sword, where a lion’s roar scared away all imagined foes.

A shadow watched her the night of the feast and if she had not given up halfway through, too full of ale, she may never have noticed the man at all. She stared at him, wishing she could see what he looked like, but the moonlight refused to show her that. And so she asked: “Who are you?”

Brienne expected it to be a servant and perhaps it had been — but the man left as soon as she asked. On another night, she might have chased the man down and questioned him, but she was weary after her conversation with Ser Daven and left for her bed instead.

The shadow did not appear the next night and Brienne was convinced she had imagined it all but then two nights later, after she had dinner with Ser Daven who told her stories of his journeys in the Riverlands (he had been there at Riverrun when she spoke to Jaime), she spied the shadow hiding again, in a different place, one where he presumably thought she could not see him. She decided to pretend as if she could not — let him think her weak and stupid, whoever this was — she even feigned injuring herself to see if he would react. There was a slight movement but then he stilled and she still could not see his face.

Damn him.

Turning quickly, she ran straight at him, hoping to surprise him.

But he surprised her more — for when she tackled him to the ground, his hood slipped off and it was Jaime’s eyes she saw.

He was clean-shaven and even his hair was gone but his eyes were still his and she stared at him, mouth agape, until he smiled at her, hesitantly and said: “Well, we haven’t been in this position for a while.”

And then she slapped him in the face.

“That was well-deserved,” he groaned and she just stared at him, annoyed at how the moonlight now decided to spill onto his features, which were as beautiful as ever. Even without hair... he was beautiful. _Half a god._

“How are you here?” she finally asked, not moving from her spot where she straddled him. She was afraid the moment she moved, he would run away again.

“Tyrion suggested I come with Ser Daven here… since I know you so well, he thought that —“

_“Tyrion.”_

Jaime winced as if expecting another slap. “Yes, he’s… he’s the one who found me. He thought I was dead and I might as well have been. I was unconscious for months. He paid a discreet maester to take care of me, threw away my stupid golden hand, and when I finally awoke I found that the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms were gone from this world.”

“And your sister,” Brienne said coldly.

His eyes were sad. “She was my sister, Brienne. I had to try to save her.”

“You left me to die,” her voice cracked and she begged herself not to cry. Not again — _not for him._ “You rather have died with her than lived with me. Don’t you understand what that meant to me?”

He reached for her and she pushed his hand aside. “Don’t.”

“I —“ he struggled. “That’s not what —“

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“It does matter, you matter to me, Brienne,” Jaime said, his eyes flashing. He tried to sit up but she pushed him back down. He scowled. “I came here to see you married to my cousin because you deserve happiness and he could have given you it.”

“You know nothing of my happiness, Jaime. You killed any chance I had of it.”

His scowl disappeared. “Brienne —“

“Don’t say my name.”

“Then is it wench again then?” Jaime demanded. “Am I your prisoner again?”

“It’s tempting,” Brienne said.

“Ser —“

“You can’t call me that either.”

“I am the one who did that —“

“And so I had to hear the mockery of it every time I was called Ser,” Brienne said, tears hot in her eyes. Words she had never spoken out loud were coming out fast and Jaime was under her, helpless. Part of her wondered if this was a terrible dream, but she could feel his anger and knew it wasn’t. In her dreams, Jaime would apologize — he was always begging her forgiveness and kissing her as soon as he saw her, speaking sweet words of nonsense that in reality would have only made her angrier but in dreams consoled her. “You made even my dreams a mockery.”

“You deserve the title of knight more than anyone else in the damned world,” Jaime said, his voice thick with frustration. His teeth flashed in the moonlight, reminding Brienne of a sword slashing against a shield. “It was not meant to be a mockery.”

“Was it meant to ease your way into my bed?” Shock crossed Jaime’s face and Brienne took the opportunity to get up, sick of seeing the face she had once prayed to see again. “Why are you here, Jaime?” she asked as coldly as she could muster.

He lay on the stone still dazed from her comment. “I —“

Anger made Brienne close her eyes and she turned away from him. “I have a letter to write.”

And she left him.

* * *

How no one else recognized Jaime, once he stopped trying to hide himself in the crowd of Lannister men, Brienne didn’t know. She supposed it was because no one much knew what the Kingslayer looked like on Tarth — her father would have, but her father was dead.

It was only she that kept Jaime’s memory alive in her heart on Tarth — only she who remembered his goodness, his cruelty, his honor, his stupid face.

She had finally made peace with his ghost — why did he have to be alive?

Tyrion’s letter gave no apologies for hiding his brother. Jaime had been near death for six months after he awoke from his near-grave. Tyrion did say he wanted to tell her but Jaime made him swear on the soul of their mother not to — and that was why he avoided her.

Brienne wrote to King Bran next, her anger interrupting her sense, for he had to have known the truth. His answers weren’t helpful either — he promised his Hand not to say a word about it to Brienne.

But he did apologize for deceiving her — and from a King who was no longer all man, that did mean something.

Jaime avoided her as much as he could but Ser Daven did not. “My cousin tells me that you know he’s here now,” he said, finding her in the antechamber next to her rooms.

Brienne stared him down. “Yes.”

Ser Daven shook his head. His long yellow hair tumbled down his shoulders. “It’s a sad thing, lady knight. I dislike the whole thing and told them both so — but I believe Jaime wanted to see you happy once more before he left for the Wall.”

“The Wall?”

“Aye,” Ser Daven sighed. “He seeks to punish himself — he seeks death again and again. Although how he plans on escaping Jon Snow’s attention — won’t he know who he is? — I do not know. And if Jon Snow does know, won’t Jon’s fair cousin know as well?” _Sansa_. Sansa would ride to the Wall just to yell at Jaime for leaving Brienne — for betraying them. Brienne could imagine the sight and almost smiled at the image. “The whole world will know if she knows — as we all know of Jon Snow’s true parentage. I told him this and still he doesn’t care. I think it’s why he was waiting to see you married, in truth. To make sure you were settled and happy.”

“I can’t be happy anymore, Ser Daven,” she said. “Happiness doesn’t matter anyhow — this is my duty.”

Ser Daven stared up at her. “Are you saying you will marry me?”

“I am saying I am reconsidering it.”

Ser Daven’s face clouded over. “Are you doing this to spite him?”

“No, I am doing this because it is my duty to have heirs.”

The less golden Lannister sighed. “It is my duty to help my house and serving you would do that — according to Tyrion.” His hazel eyes flashed. “But I am not sure I agree — you and Jaime need to speak.”

“We have already spoken.”

“More than that, Ser.”

“There is nothing more to say.”

“Of course there is,” he sighed. “The man is in love with you. While none of us truly knew of his… _Valyrian_ interest in Cersei, we knew that she was the only woman he had ever cared for — until you were around. I was there when you came to Riverrun, lady knight, as I said before. Ser Bronn and I spoke of it often afterwards while we were in our cups and Jaime was not around to hear us — perhaps coarser words than you deserved but in truth, we saw something change in Jaime. If Cersei had not blown up the sept — if Tommen had not thrown himself out the balcony, breaking both of his parents, then perhaps Jaime would have seen Cersei’s truth earlier. But that incident broke Jaime. He thought he was losing his sister to madness — and had lost his last living child to her villainy. He wanted to save her from herself because he loved her — almost as much as he loved you.”

Brienne tried to remain stoic although she felt her mask slipping. “Did he say this to you?”

“Yes,” Daven replied bluntly, surprising Brienne. “I refused to help out Tyrion with his plot until I knew everything — Jaime has changed so much since I knew him as a boy. We are of an age, you know, he and I, and while we did not grow up together I knew him well enough. I needed the truth of it all.”

“He may have loved me but he chose Cersei.”

“He chose to save his sister’s life — or make the attempt of it.”

“He chose death over life.”

“Yes, he did.” Daven eyed her with interest. “And he might choose it again.”

“That is his decision to make.”

“I’d rather hope he chooses life this time,” Daven said, “even if it means I miss out on marrying the best woman in the Six Kingdoms.” Brienne flushed and Daven smiled. “I am not one for false flattery, lady knight. I think we could have a splendid marriage — but, in truth, you are right. We could not be happy.”

“Why is that?” Brienne asked, bracing herself for a comment on her face, her body, her knighthood.

“Because you are still in love with my cousin and now that he is alive, I have no chance to sway you to me or anyone else. There is no one else for you now — there are no other men quite like Jaime.”

Brienne found that she could not speak and so spun away and left Ser Daven, running down the stairs away from his words. She found herself going to the other end of the castle, climbing up another set of stairs until, at least, she reached her favorite balcony — where all of Tarth gleamed in the sun — the water surrounding her island as blue as sapphires.

“It’s you,” a voice said and Brienne knew, without looking, that it was _Jaime._

She cursed her luck as well as all the gods. “Of course it is,” she snapped. “This is my castle.”

Jaime didn’t move closer to her and when she looked, his mouth was hard but his eyes were soft. “I know — and I can leave it if you wish.”

The words she desperately wanted to say did not come. She ended up staring down at him, into his eyes, daring him to say something for she could not bear the silence much longer, and was terribly afraid of what she would do if it did not end.

Thankfully it did end. “I have written to Tyrion… he is on his way here.”

Brienne looked away from Jaime and back across her island, her eyes going to to the sparkling Narrow Sea. The wind rustled her hair and she shivered from the breeze. “I do need to speak to him about the Meereenese matter in greater detail.”

Jaime came up next to her — although he was still a full foot away. She was unsure if she ached for him to be closer or for him to go away. “That is not why I begged him to come here. You deserve full answers and I, in truth, don’t believe I have all the answers you seek.”

“In truth?” she snapped although she regretted the words as soon as they left. “Jaime, I —“ She could feel his gaze and she looked towards him.

He did not look angry, only sad. “Ser Brienne,” he only said back, his left hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. She could feel the tips of his fingers hovering over her linen shirt, the heat of him protecting her from the cold of the wind — and then his hand dropped back to his side and she remembered the last time she had touched him. Begging him to stay.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “Please,” she begged once more and, completely misunderstanding her desire, her need, Jaime left the parapet.

The wind picked up her tears and took them to the sea.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He interrupted. “I have served under your command before,” Jaime reminded her, his voice gentle. So gentle she almost did not hear what he said over the buzz of insects and the soft wind that rustled the trees. “I would do it again. I always would.”
> 
> Part of her yearned to accept this, part of her yearned to ride far away from him, and another terrible, stupid part of her wanted to kiss his throat as she had once before, in a castle surrounded by snow. “And are you planning on leaving without warning?” Brienne asked, her voice a hard edge. She did not want to see the look on her own face — if Jaime’s wince was any indication of how frightening she looked.

A squall burst through the village — the wind picking up Brienne’s hair like a lover might have. She pushed her hair down, untangling it — _it has grown so long, past my shoulders, I need to cut it_ — and looked back towards the sea. Water crashed onto the rocks and, beyond the shoreline, a storm was brewing in the east. She could see the black clouds hovering over the distant waters where Essos lay in wait.

She frowned.

“My lady?” a villager asked. They didn’t call her Ser on Tarth half the time on her island — and Brienne stopped trying to make them say it. “You should come inside the inn — it’s about to storm. And the Imp is there waiting for you.”

She glanced sharply back at the man, who was near her height yet cowered under her glare. “He is the Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister for King Brandon Stark,” she corrected, firm as a Septa. The poor man nodded, fear evident in his eyes, and Brienne touched the lion on her pommel.

_Tyrion._

He was the cause of half of her misery. Why couldn’t he just told her the truth about Jaime? Now she was drowning in anger and grief all over again — in a way she hadn’t before. Jaime’s death was horrendous but she could reinvent him in death. She could grieve for him and pray for him and try to forget him.

Now she couldn’t forget Jaime for he was alive and living in her castle.

Rage flowed through her — rage was not a word she even felt after Renly’s death but _now…_

Tyrion was in his own set of rooms with his own set of guards. Brienne hadn’t brought anyone with her — if someone wanted to kill her, she dared them to try. If she survived White Walkers just to be killed by a common thief, she deserved to die. “Ah, the bravest knight of the Six Kingdoms — and the North!” Tyrion greeted her, a mask of happiness placed on his face as he opened the door to let her into his rooms. She brushed past him and could hear him mutter something as she did so. She imagined it was a quip — something to make himself laugh. Something to make himself feel smarter than her. She waited, standing, her hand tracing the head of the lion on Oathkeeper.

Tyrion watched her, his smile disappearing as he watched. “Are you nervous, Brienne?” he asked, dispensing with any formalities.

“No. Are you?”

Tyrion laughed and then seemed to think better of it, turning away from her to pour wine into a goblet. He offered it to her and she declined, knowing her wits had to be sharp to speak with Tyrion. “So the Daario problem —“ he began and she interrupted.

“I did not come here to talk about Meereen.” Not yet anyhow. That could wait. “Ser Davos is on his way there isn’t he?” At Tyrion’s nod, she continued, “Then you know why I am here.”

“For Jaime then,” Tyrion said, his voice cautious.

“Of course for Jaime!” she yelled, her hand releasing her grip on Oathkeeper. She remembered hearing that Tyrion had throttled his ex-lover and wondered how he would feel to be throttled too. But then regretted the thought immediately, her voice turning soft at her shame. “Why did you hide him from me? I would have wanted to be there for him.”

He placed his wine down on the wooden table and hopped onto a seat with a heavy sigh. It did not sound exaggerated. “I thought he was going to die…” Tyrion said, a frown crossing his face. “I truly did. When I found him and Cersei… I thought they were both dead. I examined them more closely after a moment — I did not want to but… I did.” He stopped to take a large gulp of his wine and then looked up at Brienne. “Please sit, I cannot crane my head up to speak to you for this whole tale.”

Begrudgingly Brienne sat down across from Tyrion. He gave her a strained smile. “There, that wasn’t so hard?”

She glowered in reply.

He sighed again, although this time it _was_ heavily exaggerated. “Well, in the end, Cersei was dead, having taken the brunt of the ceiling’s force. The bricks cracked her in a way they had not hurt Jaime. Perhaps she was trying to protect Jaime or, more likely, it happened by accident. Although I suppose King Bran would call it fate.”

Fate was something Brienne didn’t like to think on. “But Jaime was alive?”

“Alive and unwell. I didn’t — you weren’t there, Brienne,” Tyrion’s face was troubled. “I dragged him from the rubble, believing he would be dead by the time I sent a maester to heal him, and then left him to find Daenerys. I found her… and didn’t like what I saw. That’s when…”

“That’s when you convinced Jon Snow to kill his Queen. His lover.”

Tyrion winced at the judgment in her voice. “Yes.”

“As you once killed your own lover,” Brienne pointed out. She had never dared to say those words to Tyrion before but her anger unleashed something inside of her. _Something raw_ — something Sansa would have enjoyed seeing.

Tyrion’s own anger snapped back at her. “Daenerys killed everyone, Brienne.”

She stared at him until Tyrion withered under her gaze. “Perhaps we could have handled it all better,” he said almost in a whisper. “Perhaps we should have listened to Sansa from the start.”

“You should have,” Brienne said, annoyed. “She saw the Dragon Queen truly.”

Tyrion sighed. “We are off-track — you wanted to know of Jaime?” He was embarrassed of his actions, Brienne saw in his eyes, in his face, and in how he looked away from her, towards the window where the rain began to fall. It was a light rain now but Brienne knew the storm would grow worse. She might be trapped in the inn for hours with Tyrion.

She decided not to think about that possibility. “What happened after you hid Jaime from Daenerys?”

Tyrion scoffed. “I didn’t hide him — I was in prison for betraying the Queen. I assumed he’d be dead by the time I found my way out, but miracle of miracles he was alive when I found him again after my trial. The maester I paid off before I went to confront the Queen took care of him and hid him in a dilapidated house — one of the only ones still standing after Daenerys burnt the city to a crisp.”

“Was he awake when you found him?”

“Well, yes. For a few hours," Tyrion's smile was uncomfortable. "That is when he asked me not to tell you. We both... we both believed he was going to die and when he fell back into unconsciousness, I was glad that I had promised him not to tell you. He only became fully conscious a sennight after King Bran’s coronation ceremony. That was when King Bran told me — he knew about it the whole time, of course.” Tyrion’s smile was wry. “Of course I pick a King who knows more than me.”

Brienne didn’t smile back. “He wasn’t in King’s Landing?”

“He was home,” Tyrion said quietly. “I sent him home — him and Cersei’s body with him. I thought… I thought I was sending him off to die. But he couldn’t stay in King’s Landing —“

“It was Bronn you paid off, wasn’t it? Not a maester.”

Tyrion’s grip slipped on his goblet and red wine sloshed out of it, staining the table and his doublet. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his clothes, grumbling. “You are smarter than people give you credit for, you know?”

 _I know._ “I didn’t even realize he was in King’s Landing at the time.”

“He wasn’t until after the Dragon Queen perished, he wouldn’t be caught dead near a dragon again, you know —“ Tyrion sighed. “It’s all very complicated, Brienne, but I did have ways to write letters and messages. A maester did help me remove Jaime from underneath the Red Keep and did take care of him until Bronn could take him home. No one looked for Cersei under the Keep before — so Bronn was able to take her home as well.” Tyrion grimaced. “He likes talking about how she was all skin and bones by the time he found her.”

“You’re right — this is needlessly complicated.”

“What else was I supposed to do while imprisoned by Grey Worm?” Tyrion demanded. “I only had Bronn.”

“You could have had me,” she said, her voice raised. “I know Sansa and I arrived late but we did come. I could have helped you.”

“Sansa needed you,” Tyrion said, his hand patting hers for a moment before he stopped, curling it around his goblet again. “And I thought Jaime was as good as dead -- I didn't think it would be good for you to have hope he would survive. Even… even when King Bran told me he was to live, once he became conscious, well, I…” Tyrion swallowed. “I didn’t believe him."

“Has Jaime been in Casterly Rock this whole time?”

“Yes,” Tyrion said, shortly. “He’s been serving as my steward. I’m sure a few servants have recognized him, the older ones, but they are loyal and kept quiet if they suspected anything. Most of the younger ones probably wouldn’t have remembered Jaime even if his hair was grown out. So many that knew him died.”

“But Daven knew.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Our dear cousin Daven. I asked him to care for Jaime after Bronn left and he did so willingly. He’s always been a good sort of man.”

Brienne got up, frustrated. The rain grew worse outside — she could hear the howling wind. Any sunlight that had existed before she came in was now gone, only candlelight lit up Tyrion’s face. “Why did Jaime come with Daven?”

“I expect to see you happily married.”

Brienne laughed and Tyrion raised his cup to her. “I did tell him he was being stupid,” Tyrion said, his voice thick with something. “But I also supposed I hoped… I hoped you would discover him.” Thunder lashed outside and a flash of lightning lit up the room for a moment before it was gone. “That storm is fairly terrible,” Tyrion commented.

“We are in the Stormlands,” Brienne reminded him, thinking hard. “Why did you hope that —“

“That you would find him?” Tyrion drained the rest of his wine and then frowned when he found his decanter empty. “Ah, hmm, should I call for more?”

“Tyrion.”

He smiled up at her and his eyes were watery. “Forgive me, my lady, but I had hopes that if you were together again, that you would be happy.” At her silence, he continued. “I thought you forgave him,” Tyrion confessed after a moment. “I hoped… I hoped to see you both happy as you once were in Winterfell. I read the White Book — specifically, I read your lines about Jaime. I thought that meant you forgave him… it’s why --” he paused and Brienne sensed that, for once, Tyrion was going to tell the truth. “I persuaded him to come here with Daven,” he said, “I was hoping you’d find him and be reconciled with one another the moment you realized the truth.” Tyrion suddenly looked almost lost, the way he had in Winterfell, after the wights came and before Queen Daenerys left to burn a city. Had he wondered then if the Dragon Queen was ready to rule? _Ready to serve?_ “I truly thought you had forgave Jaime.”

 _She’s hateful and so am I._ These words throttled her every waking moment and so rage simmered in her reply. “And what has he done to earn my forgiveness, Lord Tyrion? You all expect me to swoon and sigh over him like a girl in a song — as if he didn’t betray us all that night.”

Tyrion was silent and then a growl escaped him. “I betrayed you too then just as I did Danaerys — I was the one… I was the one who freed him from the Queen’s troops.”

“We all know that already,” Brienne said, even more annoyed that Tyrion was making it about himself. _That’s all Lannisters ever did._ “But you were just trying to save your brother.”

“And _sister_.” Tyrion said. He looked up at her and his gaze burned. “Did you ever think that he was just trying to save his sister too? That he did not love Cersei like _that_ any longer? That he only wanted to protect her as a brother? Protect her and the child she supposedly carried.”

“You do not know what he said to me —“

“I do know. He told me,” Tyrion frowned. “It is very like Jaime to say the worst words in order to do his best deeds, you know. He loved you and so he protected you.”

She stiffened. “I’m a warrior, I need no protection.”

Thunder clashed again outside and she stiffened, looking back towards the window where darkness loomed until Tyrion spoke. “You do, my brave knight.” Tyrion’s smile was tired. “We all need protection. _Even you._ ”

* * *

In the end, Brienne had to stay the night in the inn. She hoped no one worried over her too badly — the dark sky was not suited for sending a raven out in it. Tyrion offered to have another drink with her (“This time I insist that you share in it.”) but she refused, tired of his words. She believed that he meant to do something good by sending Jaime with Ser Daven, but had trouble understanding why he didn’t tell her that Jaime was alive. “I promised,” was all he could manage to say, “I promised Jaime not to trouble you. And I cannot afford to break any more promises.”

_It was all so stupid._

She did write a letter to Sansa at her desk, wanting the Northern Queen to know of the truth. Perhaps all of the Six Kingdoms would know once Sansa did, as Daven feared, but Brienne hoped that if she begged Sansa not to speak on it that she would not tell another soul. And Brienne did not have to send the letter yet — _perhaps I will only send it when Jaime headed north, to the Wall._ Brienne knew it would be better for the Starks to know upfront that the Kingslayer was still alive rather than to find him as she did, skulking in the darkness, hiding his face as he hid his goodness.

When she awoke in the morning, sunlight streamed through her window and birds sang their mating songs. She almost smiled at the melody but remembered she had to go home to her castle where Jaime awaited. She dressed instead, languidly, dreading her return. Tyrion was to come with her, they were to address the Meereenese matter in her solar, where she had more information written down and could share facts and figures with him, and she was dreading that as well. He’d be full of false cheer, calling out to her from his carriage and she wouldn’t know what to say in response.

Brienne needn’t have worried for when she came downstairs to the inn’s common room, Jaime was there, laughing with his brother, a broad smile on his handsome face. He stilled at the sight of her and she didn’t know whether to rejoice at that or grow angrier.

“Ser Brienne,” Jaime said before bowing. Tyrion glanced at his brother with amusement which didn’t end when he looked back towards Brienne.

“Yes, our brave Evenstar,” Tyrion drawled. “Jaime rode over early in the morning to make sure we were safe after the storm.”

“Is everything all right?” Brienne asked, glancing back at Jaime. “Did the storm cause any problems?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jaime said, flushing and turning away from her gaze. “I only saw trees knocked down on my way here. Although it is quite muddy, I'm not sure how Tyrion's carriage will survive the journey.”

“From your castle, this little village is an hour ride, is it not, Brienne?” Tyrion asked her, all innocence.

“Yes,” Brienne said.

“It will take longer for me in my carriage — especially if trees have been knocked in the path and it is as muddy as Jaime says. Why don’t you both go ahead and deal with that while I stay a while longer, I do have letters to write and I can do it here.”

Brienne knew she could have argued with this but was too tired of Tyrion to care. “Very well — if it is all right with Ser Jaime.”

Jaime’s face was unreadable to Brienne. She wondered if she would have once understood his expression — at Winterfell or before. Or if she had never truly understood his expressions — _or him_. “It is all right with me,” he said, his voice soft.

Brienne nodded, wishing he had said no, but whisked herself past him, clutching Oathkeeper’s lion pommel. She knew he was watching her as she opened the door and stepped in the mud and muck. With a grimace, she found her horse and paid the stableboy a dragon for watching her. The boy reminded her of Podrick, with his round face and wide eyes, even his trembling grin.

She missed Pod.

It didn’t take long to ride back to the front of the inn where Jaime awaited. His bald head glistened in the spring sun as he guided himself onto hisown horse, although she noticed that hair was beginning to grow on his scalp once again. He must have given up on shaving it. “You gave that boy too much money,” Jaime said, having watched her from afar, although it didn’t come out as a reprimand. His voice was too soft, _much too soft._

Brienne misliked it and so she ignored his comment and went on the attack. “Are you going to keep shaving your head or are you going to grow it out now that I know who you are?”

Jaime’s smile was wry and reminded her of Tyrion’s. “Do you miss my hair, _my lady_?”

“ _Ser_ ,” she corrected, scowling, annoyed that her attempt to wound his pride did nothing. She should have known her words would not touch him — he was a cripple, true, but he had never understood what it was to be ugly so any attempts to wound him in that way would not work. Jaime knew too well that he was beautiful and, worst of all, he did not care that he was, even now, most maiden’s dream.

“Ser,” he agreed and then was silent.

For only two blissful minutes. “Brienne,” he said and she released a groan. To her surprise, Jaime laughed. “I feel as though we’re almost back in the Riverlands,” he said, with true affection.

A smile almost slipped through her cracks but she quashed it. “We’re on Tarth,” she said instead, not wanting to reminisce. 

“I’m well aware — I smell the sea.”

She did too — although they could not see it on this path nor hear it due to the forest. But the taste and smell of salt was everywhere in the air and Brienne yearned to find its source. To swim and lose herself in the current. To forget who she was for a moment. “You lived by the sea these last years.”

“Aye, I did,” Jaime replied. He was behind her and so Brienne pulled on her stirrups to speak to him better. He looked surprised by her motion when he came to her — but they now rode side by side, facing each other. “I was in Casterly Rock.”

“Your home.”

Jaime looked away. “It hasn’t been home since I was a child.”

“Where is home now?”

“Brienne,” he said but she stared him down. “I don’t have one.”

“I heard it was to be the Wall.”

“Tyrion has begged me not to go,” Jaime said, his tone reluctant. “This morning he has… almost convinced me.”

“Where would you go?”

Jaime’s gaze struck Brienne. “I hear you are in need of a new Master of Arms.”

“What of it?” she asked, fear crawling up her throat. And something worse than fear — _hope._

“I… I could do that. Until you find a better one.” He swallowed and she watched his throat bob. A throat she once kissed — a throat she once bit. “One with two hands, perhaps.”

She looked down at where his right hand would have been and frowned. “Would you truly be happy serving —“

He interrupted. “I have served under your command before,” Jaime reminded her, his voice gentle. So gentle she almost did not hear what he said over the buzz of insects and the soft wind that rustled the trees. “I would do it again. I always would.”

Part of her yearned to accept this, part of her yearned to ride far away from him, and another terrible, stupid part of her wanted to kiss his throat as she had once before, in a castle surrounded by snow. “And are you planning on leaving without warning?” Brienne asked, her voice a hard edge. She did not want to see the look on her own face — if Jaime’s wince was any indication of how frightening she looked.

“I will not,” he only said, once he could meet her eyes. It was a solid look, one that reminded her of her father. And, strangely, of Lady Catelyn.

“Do you vow to not abandon your duty?” she asked. _Do you vow to not abandon me?_

Jaime smirked. “Are you accepting my one hand?”

Brienne felt the flush on her cheeks and grew angry. “We shall see, Ser Jaime.”

And then rode on ahead of him, once again, not eager to see his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter than the last but I found it ended best here. I'm starting to suspect this will definitely be longer than 3 chapters but thankfully not as long as 30, but we'll see! I'm just riding this wave and trying to fix a very broken story with some superglue and tape. ;)


	3. Chapter Three

Her sun and moons swayed in the wind on her blue and rose-colored flag as the spring heat beat down upon them. The seasons were so short now — the last winter only lasted a year and a half. Brienne once ventured to ask the King the cause of this change and he only smiled. She suspected it had to do with the death of the Night King and his ilk. Nothing else made sense. And now spring seemed to be already turning to summer… she wondered if the seasons were going to get shorter and shorter.

“Your little castle is charming,” Tyrion said when he joined her at the railing of the battlement. 

“It is not little,” she corrected. Evenfall Hall was no Winterfell but it still was massive in size. As a girl, she sometimes feared she would be lost inside its depths.

Tyrion only laughed. “You are right… it is not as little as me.”

“What do you want, Tyrion?”

“No time for jests or japes?” At her glare, he sighed. “I have come to ask for your help again. You suggesting Ser Davos was an inspired move, Daario has ceased toying with our ships. He has not allowed us to trade again, not yet, but I was wondering…”

“If I had any suggestions to do what, Tyrion? To stop him from going to war against us as he could easily do with his soldiers and sellswords?” Brienne placed a hand on her head, hoping that it would prevent the headache. Yet, still, the dull pain appeared behind her eyes. 

She turned away from the sun as Tyrion continued to blather on. “Well, yes, since you know your little island depends on trade.”

“Not just between us and Essos,” she corrected. “The Six Kingdoms and the North need my marble and many ships rest at my ports on the journey to Dorne and back.”

“Or Estermont’s.”

Brienne frowned. “I feel as though you’re attempting to threaten me.”

“I wouldn’t dare do that.”

She glanced down at Tyrion who was attempting to hide a smile in his beard. “You are the last person on this earth who is allowed to mock me.”

His shoulders fell and the smile left him. “I do not mock -- only tease a little,” Tyrion confessed. “But, Brienne, you must have some idea.”

“Why isn’t it Ser Davos’ job to persuade him?”

“It is, but... “ Tyrion frowned. “He’s had a hard enough time of it as it is getting Daario to cease hostilities.”

Brienne believed that. The week before Davos arrived, two ships from the Vale had been overtaken by pirates. Pirates that had been hired by Daario. Lord Robin Arryn spat with fury when he arrived at the Red Keep, according to Tyrion (“Reminded me a little too much of his mother in truth -- I would have preferred he be more like his aunt,” he admitted to Brienne after a few drinks). While no man was harmed, the goods on board were no longer the property of the Vale but of the New Free Cities (as was the common name for the cities Daenerys Targaryen conquered and rebuilt). The ships, however, were to be sailed home with the Valemen due to Davos’ diplomacy. “Fine,” she agreed, “I will think on it, but I hope Ser Davos will --”

Tyrion interrupted her. “I’m sure he’ll try,” he said wryly, “but I worry he has spent all his goodwill getting Lord Robin’s toy boats back.”

Brienne bit her lip, unwilling to say her thoughts which were not charitable towards Lord Tyrion. He seemed to sense it though and laughed. “Oh, Brienne,” he said, warmth in his voice, “I have missed you.”

* * *

Brienne suspected that if Tyrion knew she had written his former wife of Jaime’s… resurrection (of sorts) he would not be as pleased with her. It took her only a day and a half to choose to send her letter to Sansa, her loyalty to her friend winning out over her loyalty to Jaime or Tyrion. _For what loyalty had they shown her in hiding the truth?_ This was the argument that had played out in her head every time she felt a spot of guilt or discomfort over her decision. 

Sansa wrote back with haste — her hand was rushed and hurried, and Brienne was grateful that her friend cared enough to send it as it was — sloppy and full of misspellings and flaws that she suspected Sansa would reveal to no one but her. 

> _Ser Brienne,_
> 
> _I cannot rationalize Tyrion’s behavior — other than perhaps his love for his brother overwhelmed his sense! I suppose I can empathize with that in some regards — many would say my revelation of Jon’s background was exactly this — but truly he should have told you! You who loved that idiotic, stupid man — forgive me, Brienne but ~~t~~_ ~~_he Kingslayer Ser_~~ _Jaime did not (does not!) deserve you._
> 
> _I half want to take a ship from White Harbor to Tarth to wring Tyrion’s neck mself! But I trust that you can handle yourself with these Lannisters. Ser Daven_ _, ~~at least,~~_ _sounds kind although I understand your disinterest in marrying him when_ _… well… I suppose I should not continue that thought. You’ll forgive me for hinting at it I hope…_
> 
> _And Bran! Oh, will Bran have words from me! To keep this from you — his trusted Kingsguard! I know as a ruler all the sacrifices we must make but this is another level. What game is he playing now? I know he loves you_ _as much as he can possibly love anyone so_ _none of it makes sense._
> 
> _What are you going to do? Please let me know if I need to send a headsman or (forgive me, Ser) a wedding gift._
> 
> _Queen Sansa_
> 
> _Winter is Coming_

Brienne frowned at Sansa’s last thought. A wedding gift? Why did even _Sansa_ believe she could forgive Jaime so easily. Sansa, who was there as a witness to Brienne’s grief. Sansa who, in her free moments as they awaited news of King’s Landing’s fall, took Brienne to the godswood and spoke about Ned Stark and Lady Catelyn and her childhood… distracting Brienne from her tears and fears although Brienne was quite sure that Sansa’s mind had been full of her own fears and troubles. Sansa who held her hand and brushed away Brienne’s tears when she ought to have been caring for her own worries.

Why would Sansa believe that she would forgive Jaime? 

_A wedding gift?_

Brienne could not abide by the words any longer and decided that her reply to Sansa had to wait. She didn’t know what to say in truth. She was not angry at Sansa for writing it but Brienne had hoped that Sansa could sense her anger and sadness and realize that Brienne was not of a mind to marry anyone. 

Least of all Jaime.

She folded the letter and hid it under another letter --- she couldn’t answer it now. Couldn’t think on it, not when letters from Davos were coming her way, informing her what she had already learned from Lord Tyrion. 

It was as if she had never left the Small Council. 

Frustrated, Brienne decided to find Ser Daven and speak with him, hoping that he would distract her. He was becoming a comforting presence as of late. She did notice that he stopped sneaking in her maids to his bed. Brienne hoped that Daven wasn’t hoping for something more, although she had suggested it once after the revelation of Jaime, she had thought more on it and knew it was a poor choice. If she was to marry it wouldn’t be to a Lannister.

And why did she have so much pressure to marry and produce heirs? King Bran had never said a word of the same to Lord Tyrion nor to Lord Gendry -- and they were Lord Paramounts! She would rule and protect her island home but that was all. 

Her heart only beat for the clang of steel -- it would not beat for any man. _Not again._

With this resolution, she marched forward in her day. Petitioners had been lining up to complain and worry over the quickening seasons which was affecting the fish all around the island. There also had been a death at the quarry and the family was asking for money which Brienne gladly gave to the man’s widow whose blue eyes watered in thanks. 

All the Lannister men were loitering in the Great Hall as Brienne greeted her people. Ser Daven gave her a wink when she looked over but she only reddened when she caught Jaime’s eyes. She looked away quickly, retreating from him and moving forward to the next petitioner who happened to have a property dispute.

When all the petitioners had left, their satisfaction at different levels, Jaime approached, shooting a look back at his brother and cousin. “You are good at this, you know,” he said. 

Brienne spared him a glance and was annoyed to see hair already covering most of his head again. “Yes, well, I’ve watched King Bran do it,” she replied. “And he is quite good at it.”

“He is dispassionate enough to see the solution, I’m sure,” Jaime remarked after a moment, his quick wit as dry as ever. She could feel him watching her and she looked for an escape but could sense none. 

Frustrated, she spoke, “As am I then.”

“I did not say that,” Jaime corrected, his voice soft yet… an annoyance lingered there. “Must you misunderstand me so?”

She whirled on him and surprise overtook his handsome face. “What do you want?” she demanded in a whisper, too aware of the looks from the other minor nobles in the hall, too aware of Ser Daven and Tyrion.

Jaime spoke just as quietly. “I noticed all of your petitioners called you _my lady._ ”

Brienne relaxed her shoulders. “What of it?”

“You are a knight.”

“They are more traditional here,” she said. “It is of no matter, I know who and what I am.” Brienne began to turn away but Jaime clasped her wrist with his left hand -- his only hand. She looked down and watched him release her, his fingers trailing on her skin for just a moment. 

She refused to feel anything and yet she still shivered.

“I knighted you,” Jaime reminded her -- as if Brienne could have forgotten. “And I have an idea to make them remember who you really are.”

Brienne bit her lip. “What is it?” she asked although she feared she’d regret asking.

“You should call for a tourney,” Jaime said, his gaze thoughtful. “You say your island does not respect you as a warrior and you’re right, Ser. . . they do not. But how could they when they have no seen you fight like. . . like I have.” He turned himself away from her so she could no longer see his expression.

Brienne thought it over and another idea bloomed while she did so. “We could invite Daario Naharis,” she said, “We could invite the world -- not just the Six Kingdoms -- to the tourney, to celebrate the beginning of a new era of Westeros. The Tourney at Tarth.”

Jaime looked back at her with a smile. “Sounds like a story from a song already,” he said.

“I will write to King Bran and Lord Gendry,” she said, determined, “and speak with Tyrion. There will be much to do if we want to get this done quickly.”

“But you will enter the tourney?” Jaime asked.

“I will not charge at the lists,” she said, “but I will fight in the melee.”

“As will I,” Jaime replied and then smiled at her in the way he once did in Winterfell.

Her heart thudded against her chest in an almost painful way, the rapid beating stunned her. “Of course,” she said, her words suddenly stilted. “I must go then, Ser Jaime. To write.”

His smile disappeared. “Of course,” Jaime said, parroting her own words back to her. But it did not feel as though he mocked her -- she knew when people mocked her. She knew when _Jaime_ mocked her. This felt… different. 

Fighting a blush, Brienne touched his shoulder as she passed by him, shocked by how much of it was just skin and bone now. “Thank you, Jaime,” she said.

And then she fled.

* * *

Ser Daven found her in her study. He laughed when he did so and she imagined she was quite a sight, bent over her letters, covered in ink. She should have been covered in bruises from training -- from protecting the King, but now she was here on Tarth. Lording.

“I hear my cousin has given you a plan of action,” Daven said, grabbing a chair to sit beside her. 

Brienne tried not to show her discomfort with how close his thigh was to hers. “Yes, well,” she cleared her throat. “He has good ideas on occasion.”

“He has beat Tyrion at his own game before,” Daven remarked. “Did either of them tell you how Jaime sacrificed Casterly Rock in order to defeat the Tyrells?”

 _Yes,_ Brienne wanted to say, remembering how Jaime dreamed of dragons breathing fire on him, on Tyrion, on Winterfell, on King’s Landing. How he feared that the Queen was like her father and, in the end, was proven right. They had yet to speak of that -- she wanted to suddenly know if that was why --

She stopped, fearing the cold chill that had entered her memory, and smiled at Ser Daven. “They did not tell me much, Ser.”

“Daven is fine,” he corrected with a grin of his own. It was wide and boisterous and she really did think of Tormund when she saw it. “And aye, I was with Jaime, of course, and that dragon was a fearsome thing to behold. But what I couldn’t believe more than anything was that he outsmarted Tyrion.”

“Tyrion isn’t difficult to outsmart,” she said dryly. “Just make sure he thinks you are stupider than him.”

Daven laughed. “I have never been able to outwit him.”

Brienne shrugged. “Most haven’t.”

“Which is my point -- Jaime has.”

“And?” Brienne was growing irritated.

Discomfort flashed on Daven’s face. “Just that… Jaime hasn’t ever really allowed himself to think that he is, well,”

“Smart,” Brienne finished for him. She glanced at Daven. She assumed when he entered the room he had come in to advance himself and yet, here he was (again) attempting to explain Jaime. “Daven why are you here?”

“In your study?”

“Yes.”

“I hoped I could help in some way.”

“And what way is that?”

“I suppose financially.” She stopped and looked at him. His hazel eyes brightened. “I am a Lannister too and while Jaime and Tyrion have been spending money to fix the roads, I have my own personal income I inherited. I would like to contribute.”

She was skeptical. “What do you want for this... _contribution_?”

“A chance at your hand, my lady,” he winked. “For I have an idea myself and while I suspect you will not like it… I think it would capture the world’s imagination.”

“And what is this terrible idea of yours?”

Ser Daven deepened his voice as he spoke, “ _The Maid of Tarth_ ,” she flinched as he continued, “will accept the hand of whoever wins the tourney _if_ they would like to wed her.”

“And you think you can win?” Brienne demanded although another question flashed in her mind ( _"Does Jaime know you're asking this of me?"_ ).

Daven flashed a quick smile under his beard. “I think I have a chance.”

“I --” she bit her lip. “Perhaps. It could be a good idea.” Brienne had always required a man to be able to defeat her in battle before she’d marry them -- well, not always. Only after Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, the last man she had been betrothed to, insisted that she would not fight any longer after they were wed. Brienne replied she would only accept such a demand from a man who could beat her in combat. The betrothal did not last once she had broken three of his bones.

Good riddance.

But, this idea, as stupid as it was to marry a man who would win a tourney, could elicit even more excitement. _And her people would be happy._ “Rules would have to be established,” she said, wishing that she wasn’t agreeing to this stupidity.

“Of course,” Daven replied, his eyes twinkling.

“And I will be entering myself,” Brienne said, determined. If she won, she wouldn’t have to marry anyone. _And she would win._

“I never doubted that.”

Brienne looked over her desk, covered in letters she already finished and sighed. “I should rewrite these letters then.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Daven said, removing himself from his seat. He took her hand as if to kiss the back of it but she wrenched it away.

“You may go,” she said and then he left.

Any excitement she had for the tourney disappeared when he was gone.

He was right -- the King instructed her to marry and have heirs and so she had to marry. Marrying the man who won the tourney was no different than marrying someone else she did not know. And she would win the tourney. It wasn’t a question -- so it would be fine. 

_It would be fine._


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rose higher in the sky and when it neared the top, a small ship, one much smaller than the one Ser Daven and Jaime entered on, approached from the west, its sails billowing in the eastern wind. Brienne watched its approach carefully and every so often she would look down at the letter she held in her hands and think on it in wonder. A visitor almost more surprising than Jaime (although no one could overthrow a dead man’s rise from a grave) was about to arrive on her shores and Brienne wasn’t sure what to think of it all. The letter had been a shock but shocks were something she had grown used to.

Tiny bells rang in children’s tinier hands, their laughter ringing louder than the bells they carried as they ran around the village square. It was market day in the most populous western village, a lovely village that was hidden by a mountain range, and Brienne was there, hiding as well. She wore a cloak and no armor, hoping that her people would not recognize her, hoping that they imagined she was just another soldier licking wounds while watching the salty sea lap at rocks. 

_Although perhaps I was doing just that_ , she thought as she moved outside the village, towards the dock which was busy with activity. She did not want to get in the way so she sat on a jagged rock not far from her destination. 

The sun rose higher in the sky and when it neared the top, a small ship, one much smaller than the one Ser Daven and Jaime entered on, approached from the west, its sails billowing in the eastern wind. Brienne watched its approach carefully and every so often she would look down at the letter she held in her hands and think on it in wonder. A visitor almost more surprising than Jaime (although no one could overthrow a dead man’s rise from a grave) was about to arrive on her shores and Brienne wasn’t sure what to think of it all. The letter had been a shock but shocks were something she had grown used to. 

Brienne removed herself from the sharp edge of the rock she sat on and climbed up on the dock. A dockworker bowed in recognition, muttering something like _“my lady.”_ She paid him no mind, too busy watching the ship come closer and closer until it was looming above her.

It landed with a thunk and the sailors did their work.

Soon after they did so, a slip of a girl launched herself off the plank and landed onto the dock. It was a graceful leap, much like a cat, and Brienne smiled in recognition. “Lady Arya,” she said, gripping the letter from Queen Sansa. 

“I’m no lady,” Arya replied and they exchanged matching grins.

“I am glad to see you, Arya,” Brienne said as they marched into the village. Arya looked strong and steady -- not too different than what she had looked like years ago when she left to explore the world. “I always hoped you’d come home.”

“And I did -- we hit too many storms once we went far enough West,” Arya said, clenching the hilt of the knife that killed the Night King before releasing. She still wore it by her side. “Lost several good men and women to what I think may have been a Kraken. I think I’ll need more ships -- bigger ones too -- to truly go west. We survived more than any others -- the famed adventurer Elissa Farman never came home after she tried you know.”

“Perhaps Lady Greyjoy --”

Arya laughed. “She wouldn’t help me. She likes Sansa well enough, they’ve exchanged some letters about Theon, but,” Arya shrugged, “I think she and I may be too similar to like one another.”

“She might still help,” Brienne said, cautious. She leaped over a puddle -- another storm had hit the day before. The west coast didn’t have as many storms as the east but they still appeared, often with little warning. “She always sounded interested in your journeys when we discussed it during Small Council meetings.”

Arya’s smile was wry. “You discussed me at the Small Council?”

“We discussed all matters of importance. And, well,” Brienne said, her voice cautious, “you are the King’s sister.”

Arya’s smile lessened and her eyes grew dark. “Is he coming to the Tourney too?”

“Of course. He is the King.”

“I will be beside him then -- I don’t want any harm to come to him.”

Brienne was unsure on whether she should feel offended. “I would never let that happen, Arya.”

Arya’s smile grew again. “I know, but you’ll have your hands full.” She arched an eyebrow, “Especially since Sansa tells me Jaime Lannister lives.”

Brienne almost slipped in the mud, causing children in the village to titter. She didn’t dare to look their way -- or Arya’s. “He is alive. I suspect it will be common knowledge soon enough.”

Arya said nothing as Brienne righted her footing, saving her next thought for when Brienne was standing upright. “If it does it will not be because of Sansa -- she only told me because I went to Winterfell straightaway after arriving back from the Western seas. She had received your letter only a few days before I showed up and was still struggling with the news. I think she feared that Cersei could still be alive too.”

Brienne hadn’t even thought of that. “If she was alive, Jaime would not leave her.”

Arya snorted beside her. “I doubt that. He left her for you once before.”

Brienne swallowed. “He only left her to save the world.”

“He left her because you asked him to.”

“And how do you know that?” Brienne demanded, turning back to Arya, ashamed that her fear and frustration was leaking out into her whispered question. 

Arya’s gaze was hard and suddenly Brienne remembered that this slip of a girl killed the Night King. “Because I saw it every time he looked at you, Brienne. And you know it too. You’re not stupid.”

Brienne looked away and it was several minutes before she spoke again. “He is my Master of Arms.”

Arya laughed. “But he has only one hand!”

“And still survived a horde of White Walkers,” Brienne said, the reprimand coming out stronger than intended. Arya’s smirk made her soften her next words. “It is… helping him train. And it keeps him busy.”

“Busy enough to stay away from you?”

There was no use hiding the truth from the girl who wore faces. “Yes.”

Arya didn’t reply and they soon found the stable where Brienne had kept two horses waiting. Brienne handed the stablegirl a few coins and soon the two women were on their way back to Evenfall Hall. “I don’t blame you,” Arya said once they had left the village. “I would do the same.”

Brienne sighed. “ _He_ will be here too, you know.” Soon, Brienne almost added but knew the _when_ was meaningless.

“I know,” Arya said with a shake of her head. “I think that’s half the reason Sansa asked me to go in her stead. She wants me to marry and have babies or something,” Arya laughed but it was tinged with grief. “To be a lady.”

Brienne decided to dodge that unintended trap. “She will not leave the North ever then?”

Arya did not look over. “I don’t think she could bear it.” 

Sadness overwhelmed Brienne -- the thought of never seeing her friend, the lady she had sworn herself to, ever again made her grieve. For Queen Sansa. For Lady Catelyn. For Arya. For King Bran. “I hope one day she will.”

Arya gave Brienne a sharp look. “And you, Brienne, are always welcome in the North.”

* * *

Brienne offered Arya her own rooms, knowing that a King’s sister deserved the best, but the younger girl declined, as Brienne knew she would. “Better to give this key to Jaime,” Arya laughed and Brienne flushed. 

Arya didn’t mention Jaime’s name again after that although Brienne found them both speaking in the training yard one morning. She listened in, glad the sun was low enough to hide her presence. “You are in terrible shape,” Arya told him dispassionately. 

“You are just like your mother, you know?” Jaime shot back.

Arya ignored him for which Brienne was thankful. When Jaime was in his moods, biting back did nothing but sharpen the lion’s claws. She knew this well herself, being the victim of his many taunts in their journey across the Riverlands. Instead, Arya thudded the back of his knees with her wooden sword. He almost buckled. “You didn’t even try to dodge that,” she tutted.

“I didn’t exactly realize you were about to do it, _your highness._ ”

“My brother may be a King but I’m not a princess,” she corrected him, frowning as she circled Jaime. “And insults will do nothing but earn you more taps.” And to prove it, Brienne watched as Arya quickly maneuvered and tapped Jaime’s ass, shoulder, neck, and the back of his knees _again._

He did buckle that time, falling to his knees and swearing loudly. “How are you to be a Master of Arms when you can’t hold yourself upright?” Arya demanded, placing her wooden sword on his shoulder, pushing him down further into the dirt.

“That’s why I came to you,” Jaime said, his voice taut. “I need…” 

“Help,” Arya supplied helpfully. 

Brienne almost laughed. Jaime opened his mouth to retort and Brienne thought it was time she revealed herself. “What are you two doing?” she asked as she emerged, folding her arms over her chest.

Jaime quickly jumped back to his feet and grinned at her, the way he used to. It almost made her forget everything. He was almost as beautiful as he once had been before too -- his hair had grown out even more now and his smile burned her heart. If it was not for Arya looking over at her, she would have forgotten her anger. But Arya was frowning and suddenly Brienne stopped forgetting ( _“She’s hateful and so am I.”_ ).

“Training,” Jaime said, his voice too innocent sounding for a hateful man. “Is that not what a Master of Arms does?”

Brienne looked to Arya and she only shrugged. “All right,” Brienne agreed although she was reluctant to do so after what she had seen. “But do not injure yourself. We have many guests coming in the next few weeks before the tourney and you need to be ready.”

“The tourney for your hand,” Arya reminded her. A smile slashed on the girl’s face before it disappeared. 

All the cheer in Jaime’s expression disappeared as well. “Yes, your tourney,” he said with a twisted smile. “So kind of my cousin Daven to help you solve your problem.”

“As kind as it was for you to bring him to me,” Brienne replied. She enjoyed the discomfort on his face more than she should have: the way his smile turned into wariness brought her a grim sort of satisfaction. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with your brother to discuss --”

“Meereen, I’m sure,” Jaime said, turning away from her to face Arya. “It’s always Meereen.” He looked to Arya. “Let’s do this again, Stark.”

Arya smiled up at him… and tapped his stump.

To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime laughed and then moved into place, finding his footing at last. She wished she could stay and watch Arya attack him for she wanted to do so herself. _How dare he_ \-- how dare he be angry at her! She had to talk about Meereen -- she had to be a lady of the Stormlands. She had to do her duty. It wasn’t her fault Jaime failed to do his.

Although perhaps that was why she was so angry, she thought later, once the meetings with Tyrion had concluded, and she was stuck in her best rooms that Arya had refused. A clash of lightning and a ringing of thunder haunted her castle and so she gave up on reading the letters her maester had brought her, instead choosing to stare out at the dark clouds drifting in a yellow sky. 

It wasn’t truly that Jaime failed to do his duty for wasn’t it as Tyrion said -- that saving Cersei was Jaime’s duty? Wasn’t that what she herself wrote in the White Book?

> _“Died saving his queen.”_

Although Jaime’s Queen was dead and he was alive so all of her words were ash and wind. 

Lightning struck a tree near the castle causing sparks to fly in the sky and, far away, horses neighed loudly enough to reach her window. Brienne suddenly wished she was not alone in her rooms. Almost as soon as she wished it, Arya appeared beside her, not even bothering to knock as she entered the room. “I knew you’d be here and that it’s too early to sleep,” she said, smiling, holding a decanter and two goblets. “Wine?”

Brienne nodded, releasing her grip on her knife, placing it on the table, and settling back down into her seat. She was grateful that she had not thrown the knife in her hands at the intruder -- it was good she had recognized Arya before anything had happened. Arya said nothing of it which made a certain kind of sense -- she would have probably been able to catch the knife before it impaled her. 

Arya sat on Brienne’s bed, pouring the Arbor Gold into their goblets and handing one off to Brienne. “I’m not used to the Stormlands,” she said after another dance between thunder and lightning. “It is quite loud.”

“It is,” Brienne said.

“I don’t know how Gendry stands it.”

“Have you… spoken to him?”

Arya’s lips curled. “Of course, we write. I tell him to marry some other Stormland girl, I even suggested you when I heard the news about Bran sending you off here, well before I knew Jaime was back." Brienne would have objected to this but Arya continued before she could speak. "He says no by the way.” She drank from her goblet, her lips stained red when she finished. “I hate him. He’s so stupid.”

“He’s not,” Brienne said, reeling from a rejection she didn't ask for, before handing Arya a kerchief. Arya ignored it in favor of the back of her hand, wiping her mouth ferociously.

“He is,” she said. “I don’t know why he thinks he can get away without having an heir. You don’t, I know -- that’s why you’re doing this stupid tourney thing.”

“I suppose Tyrion is doing the same thing as Gendry,” Brienne pointed out, trying not to sigh. “He doesn’t have an heir either.”

“That idiot Bronn has three!” Arya said. “From one of the Florent girls. They all have those ears.”

“Well, they’re happy to finally have the Reach again,” Brienne said, grimacing. “And he got lucky with triplets.”

“Willas, Garlan, and Tyrion Blackwater,” Arya smirked. “Stupid names, really.”

Brienne wondered if she’d have her own sons with stupid names with a stupid man. _No, it would be fine. No one will defeat me._ “What is Queen Sansa doing about heirs?”

“Nothing right now, I suppose Bran is technically her heir,” Ayra frowned. “But he can’t have children.”

“Which means you are her heir.”

Arya paled. “No, I’d give it to Jon -- I don’t care what his stupid real name is. And I won’t let her die anyhow.” 

Brienne decided it would be tactless to point out that Arya could not protect Sansa if she was exploring the world. She looked at the swirling red wine. “It is good the Arbor is doing well now -- these quickly changing seasons seem to be --”

“I think these changing seasons are good,” Arya interrupted. “No more years of winters, just months. That can only be good.”

Brienne frowned. “No more years of summers either.”

“Too much summer is bad too,” Arya said.

“The sailors and the farmers do not like it.”

Arya snorted and drank from her cup. “They mislike everything. And they’ll get used to it. They have to.”

“Lord Tyrion is worried it will lead to an uprising.” Privately Brienne was worried as well. The smallfolk had been through so much in the last ten years, strange weather patterns could be the match that lights the flame. 

“Bran won’t let that happen. He cares too much.”

Brienne glanced at Arya. _“King Bran?”_

Arya’s expression was firm and hardy and suddenly Brienne was ashamed of her surprise. “He does. He always has. It may not show the same now that he’s…” Arya hesitated but continued quickly after, steadfast in her thoughts. “Now that he’s the Three-Eyed Raven and all, but… he’s still _Bran.”_

“He will be here too,” Brienne said, unsure on whether she agreed with the King’s sister or not. She protected Bran but never understood him. “For the tourney.”

“I wish Jon and Sansa could be here too,” Arya sighed. “Sansa could fashion a peace with the Meereenese with her eyes closed.”

Brienne agreed out loud but Arya’s smile faded despite it. 

“Or perhaps not,” Arya said, her voice almost dropping to a whisper. “Daenerys and Sansa never achieved peace with one another, did they? That’s why Jon did what he did.” Her eyes darkened. “I should have done it for him. It wasn’t fair for him to do it. Instead of focusing on Cersei, I should have killed Daenerys before --”

“It was years ago,” Brienne calmed her. “Arya, it’s over. Do not have regrets for something you could not control.”

“You weren’t there.”

“I know,” Brienne remembered how fierce and angry Arya had been when Sansa, Brienne, and Bran arrived at the doors of King’s Landing. She wondered how Grey Worm had escaped Arya’s wrath. “I saw what happened afterward just as you did.”

Arya was quiet as lightning cut through the sky in front of them, brightening the room for a moment. “I wish it could have been avoided," she said once the room darkened again. "I wish I had gone to Cersei sooner than Daenerys’ ships had reached Dragonstone. If I had killed Cersei before the sack of King's Landing -- then maybe Jaime would have stayed with you. Maybe you would have had children and heirs of your own by now." Brienne glanced at the other girl in shock. “I might be a little drunk, Brienne, but I’m not terribly so,” Arya smirked. “I know what you were thinking.”

“I was not thinking that,” Brienne lied and Arya laughed. 

But then Arya's laughter ended -- almost as quickly as it had begun. “These were the thoughts that haunted me in the long nights aboard my ship,” Arya said, her finger circling the rim of her goblet. There was nothing left in her cup, while Brienne still had more than half of her wine left. _Perhaps Arya was more than a little drunk._ “I should have stopped them -- all of them. I should have...”

A crash of thunder burned their ears and then -- rain began to pour from the skies, the raindrops looking like tears on Brienne's bedroom window.

“It’s over,” Brienne said once the sound of thunder had subsided, although the words felt hollow. Was it truly over? Could it be over when Jaime’s words still cut into her spirit every time she saw him, bloodying her hopes and dreams… could it truly be over when Meereen’s ruler wept for his lost Queen, and when Sansa hid away from all who could harm her, deep in the snowy trenches of Winterfell? Could it be over when a King who knew everything that had ever happened reigned over them all, his eyes a window to all souls? 

_Could it be over when a dragon still roared louder than thunder somewhere?_

“It’s not over, Brienne,” Arya said. “It never is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so I might love Arya if you can't tell ;) (gendrya 4ever))
> 
> This chapter is a tad later than I wanted it to be but it's been a crazy summer and it's also kind of hard to ducktape together a cohesive story based on a nonsensical ending with poorly written character arcs (despite fantastic acting by all involved). 
> 
> I still have no idea how long this tale will be -- probably at least eight chapters. Probably more. Who knows! This is a self-indulgent fix-it fic and I just hope you all enjoy it. Sorry that there isn't a lot of Jaime this chapter -- but I hope you kind of see what's going on there as well. 
> 
> Fun Facts for non-book readers who may or may not know these things already: 
> 
> Elissa Farman is from Fire and Blood and you can learn more about her [here](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Elissa_Farman) cause she's really interesting and probably the reason why Dany got her dragons. 
> 
> Bronn is married to a Florent (which, another fun fact if you didn't know it, is the house Stannis Baratheon's wife Selyse belongs to) who have the better claim to the Reach than any house (tbh) so it makes sense to pair his new house with that older established house. His children are named after my two fave Tyrell brothers and, of course, Tyrion (although he named /his/ son that in the books as well). 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! next chapter will be full of many more arrivals -- Arya's just early ;)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone remember Salladhor Saan? Cause D&D might not but I do~

Sand shifted between Brienne’s toes, rubbing against her calluses. She winced as she took another step, avoiding the sharp edge of the rock underneath the sandy illusion, not looking forward to wiping off blood if she misstepped. She cursed herself for taking off her boots but she had not wanted a trail to lead anyone to them. The earth beyond the sand was muddy from another storm and she was not willing to risk a print.

Jaime was not far behind her, she could hear his grunts of concentration, while Arya leaped ahead, looking almost as if she was the one who had been born on Tarth. She took well to the docks and the sea and Brienne wondered again what Arya had seen in her travels from childhood. The young girl never spoke of it and Brienne never asked. 

Arya stopped -- her steps stuttering as she did so, spinning in the sand. “Look,” she said, pointing out a rowboat. “Are those are pirates or smugglers?”

Brienne looked over and watched as several men removed themselves from the dinghy. They were brown from the sun although a few looked brown from birth. “They look Essosi,” was all Brienne said and Arya nodded sharply in agreement.

Jaime came up from behind Brienne, his left hand grabbing her elbow to steady himself. She dared not move, trying not to remember how gentle his fingers had once been long ago. He removed his hand as soon as he could. “You don’t recognize any of them?”

“Why would I?” Brienne asked and he shook his head.

“Not you, her,” he said, jutting a finger at Arya in amusement. “She’s traveled the world.”

Arya rolled her eyes but peered at them a moment longer. Her dark hair dangled behind her ears, in braided twists. Brienne had never noticed how long it was -- growing well past her shoulders. “No, I don’t know any of them. Should we go over?”

Jaime spoke first. “No.”

Brienne glared down at him. “This isn’t your call to make, ser.”

His glare was nearly as ferocious as hers. “We would be outnumbered, there are seven of them if you can count.”

“We’ve faced much worse odds than that,” she hissed. 

He did not flinch and it was only Arya’s voice that broke the connection between them. “I think we should follow them instead.”

“If it came to a fight, we could take them,” Brienne insisted. 

“Of course we could,” Arya snorted. “But I’d rather like to know what they’re doing here, wouldn’t you?” Without another look behind her, she took a step behind a rocky crag and motioned for Brienne and Jaime to lay down. The rock couldn’t hide all three of them, Brienne noticed and begrudgingly placed herself on the sand, frowning. 

Jaime followed suit, muttering about Starks. 

With only light trepidation, they soon followed the men, whose coarse laughter made them easy to spy on. They were not trying to hide their presence as they left their boat behind -- they seemed to invite curious eyes. Soon enough, they were not the only ones watching the men. A crowd of villagers found their way to the beach, their figures small from where Brienne hid. A child waved at one of the big men and he smiled in response, waving back. 

Soon the two groups converged and while Brienne tensed, worried for her people, there was only conversation and laughter rising above the sound of waves.

“I s’pose it’s fine then,” Arya said, smiling. 

Brienne didn’t smile back. She mistrusted this even more and when she looked to Jaime, his eyes met hers in understanding.

Strangers arriving only days before Lord Gendry Baratheon was supposed to arrive could only bode poorly.

They would need to go to the village.

* * *

The ocean waves crashed upon towering rocks and it sounded almost like music _. . ._ if Brienne could ignore Jaime and Arya’s quiet bickering behind her. “You need to stop leading with your left foot,” Arya said, her voice impatient. “And why do you look like you’re about to fall over any time I approach you. What in the Seven Hells were you doing after the sack of King’s Landing if you weren’t practicing?”

Brienne could feel the sudden burn of Jaime’s gaze but ignored it. His voice carried over: “Resting from my near-death experience, of course, my lady Stark.”

Arya snorted and then began a veiled attack on Jaime’s manhood _(the third so far on their journey)_. For the last few days, it had been like this, before they even found the men by the shore. 

The Stark and the Lannister exchanged quick barbs while they practiced or when they rode together or when they sat together. It was odd how often Jaime chose to sit with Arya instead of his brother now, but Brienne hadn’t missed the exchange of glares between the two Lannisters.

_Something had happened._

Perhaps it had something to do with Ser Daven (who choose to sit as close to Brienne as possible when they all ate together in the Great Hall, making her laugh ( _reluctantly_ )). Or perhaps it was when Ser Daven chose to sit next to Tyrion, their heads bowed together as they whispered and chuckled over some sort of plans. _Nefarious ones_ , Brienne was half-sure. 

“Are we almost there, Brienne?” Arya shouted from behind.

“There’s no need to yell,” Jaime grumbled, making his horse gallop to catch up to Brienne’s steed. Arya closed in quickly as well and the three of them took over the entire path to the village.

When Brienne glanced beside her, the younger girl was fiddling with her reins, her face a calculated blank space. 

Gendry ( _Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands -- her sworn lord_ ) was coming in the next few days.

Brienne had insisted to Arya ( _and to Jaime, for that matter)_ that she did not have to come with her on this journey to investigate pirates but… the little Stark insisted upon it (as had Jaime: "I am your Master of Arms," he had said with such firmness that Brienne couldn't deny him).

Gendry would be the first of the nobles to arrive and had already asked after Arya in his letter announcing his arrival, somehow knowing that she was there. Brienne suspected Sansa was the cause although perhaps someone else (like Tyrion) let it slip to Gendry or Ser Davos.

Jaime’s presence was still unknown to Gendry or, at least, he hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps he did not care if Jaime was alive or dead. Perhaps it was only she who cared outside of the Lannisters themselves.

(But that could not be true.)

Unfortunately, Brienne was not able to receive her liege lord due to the pirates. It was why she told Jaime and Arya to stay behind -- she hoped friendlier faces than her steward’s (and Tyrion's) would be welcome enough. She knew Arya’s would be. But the rumors of pirates sent them to the beach, scouting, and while she could have sent someone to investigate, she wanted to stretch her legs and get away from the castle. The talk of her marriage and the tourney was driving her to madness. Just the other day, her steward asked about her monthly blood in front of Tyrion no less (who proceeded to hide his mirth in his cup of ale). 

She accosted her steward in private, reminding the man that she was a knight of the six kingdoms and his liege lord. But he impressed upon her the necessity of knowing if she was to have an heir as soon as possible, “You are not the same young lady who left years before,” he had cautioned. 

“Leave that for me and the maester to worry over,” she had snapped back, clutching Oathkeeper’s hilt, ashamed at how much she enjoyed the color leaving his face.

Brienne wondered if Jaime knew of the conversation -- if Tyrion had spoken to him of it. _Perhaps if he hadn’t left her for Cersei_ \-- she shook her head. Such ruminations would only hurt her more when he left again. 

For he would leave again. She couldn’t bear to have him here if he stayed past the tourney. His presence would haunt her -- especially if the worst came to past and she did have to marry a man who did not love her. It was enough to know he was alive now and safe. She did not crave his touch anymore. She could not love him as she once did. 

They soon arrived at the same village that Tyrion stayed at, only weeks ago. It looked different in the sunshine, the bright light making the inn look welcoming, the sound of people inside laughing and drinking almost as comforting as the sound of the waves. It was at this inn that the rumors of pirates sprung from the lips of her people and so Brienne handed off her horse to the stableboy and waited for Arya and Jaime to do the same. This is where the men they had spied to had to be. Where else would men without a home go to but a tavern?

“This is probably where they are,” Jaime said, voicing her thoughts out loud. She looked to him and almost smiled but stopped herself, catching his gaze instead.

The air was as thick as the monthly blood her maester worried over until Arya cut through it, “Let’s go then,” she said, looking at both of them as if they were mad ( _and perhaps we are,_ Brienne thought _)._

Opening the door they were greeted by no one -- only a man and a girl were in the quiet inn, laughing at some sort of jape.

The man inside the inn was unfamiliar in both his coloring and his clothing which meant he was not one of the men they saw on the beach that morning. He reminded Brienne of merchants from the Summer Isles -- except he looked richer than they. The clothes he wore were finer than ones she wore, the needlework careful and well done, and the colors bright and vibrant: full of yellows and reds and purples. 

Yet despite the fact he was not one of the men they had spied coming upon her shore, she still suspected he was one of them - although, despite his fine clothes, he almost looked more like a typical drunk. The young woman sat on his lap, giggling at the whispered tales he was surely spinning in her ear.

Suddenly she wished she brought Tyrion. 

Without preamble, she sat herself down at his table, taking the chair across from his without a trace of a smile. Jaime and Arya hung back, watching.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded, his drunken slur emphasizing his accent. The woman in his lap stilled her jostling, recognizing Brienne immediately, and flushed red.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jaime stir but did not look further than that, hoping Arya had the sense to keep Jaime from doing anything stupid. “I am the Evenstar. Who are you?”

The woman leaped off his lap then and the man did not stop her, his hands falling uselessly by his sides. She ran off into the kitchen and Brienne hoped she would not come back.

A beautiful grin blossomed on the man’s face, the kind that almost made Brienne smile. “I am Salladhor Saan, the best pirate in the world.” At the end of this pronouncement, he chugged the rest of his drink, not taking his eyes off hers. Brienne waited patiently as he stared her down. “I’ve heard of you, you know,” he said. “The Maid of Tarth.”

Brienne held her tongue. “Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Evenstar,” she said instead.

Salladhor understood and laughed so hard he cracked his neck. “Maid no longer!” he chortled. “That is interesting.” He wiped away his tears as his laughter turned into chuckles. “And is the man behind you responsible? He’s glaring at me quite well.”

Brienne did not look over at Jaime. “You may question me later -- I have more questions for you.”

“Ah, no.” Salladhor’s eyes crinkled. “I have one more for you -- a much more pertinent one. Well, I suppose it’s two.”

“What are they?”

“Did you kill Stannis Baratheon?”

Ah. So he was the pirate that had worked with Ser Davos. Brienne should have remembered Ser Davos’ tales of the pirate Salladhor Saan who abandoned him in Braavos before he rejoined Stannis at the Wall. “I did.”

“And is Ser Davos well?”

Brienne nodded. “He is. He is the Master of Ships and will soon come to Tarth for the tourney.”

“That is why I’m here, you know.” Salladhor's teeth were white and sharp as he smiled, reminding Brienne of a shark. “He owes me money. I bet him Stannis would never be King and I came here to collect. Did I want him to win? Sure, I liked Stannis well enough -- I liked Davos better. And it was not my Seven Kingdoms so what do I care for its politics. But Stannis had no heart so perhaps it is for the best that he did not win.” 

“It’s Six Kingdoms now,” was all Brienne could say at the end of his speech.

“I’ve heard,” he agreed, amused. 

“And that is why you are here? Not here to steal and pirate and rape? Not for the tourney?”

“I do not rape,” he smirked. Brienne wanted to smack it off his face. “ _I convince._ And as to your little tourney, I do not come for your hand, as much as it surely pains you to hear.” He leaned back in his chair and took a swig of his drink, “I am too old to pirate any longer, which is why I need my winnings from Davos so very badly.”

She did not smile back. “We will escort you to Evenfall Hall then.”

“You, the cripple, the little lady, and me?” he laughed. “You must understand I have men waiting for me on my ship.”

“Only one ship?” Brienne paused. “I saw a group of men come ashore from your ship this morning.”

Salladhor Saan laughed. “I should not have thought to hide them from you, the killer of Stannis.” His laughter turned into a shrug. “They are here to meet women and I cannot stop them. Do not worry, fair lady, they will not rape. I’m sure your women will need no convincing if this inn’s kitchen maid is any indication.” 

Brienne didn’t smile. “You and all your men should come to Evenfall Hall then. There are just as many women there.” 

He raised his brows. “I know your castle is large but… my men stay on my ship. Or this inn. We do not do well in castles. We are men of the sea… _you see?”_

“You may stay on your ship then or in this inn,” Brienne agreed begrudgingly, too weary to argue. “Until we have more tents set up on the fields outside my castle’s walls. You were an unexpected arrival.”

“I am sure you will have plenty of those -- this is a tourney for the ages. One that singers will sing about, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps.”

“And what was your question for me, Lady Tarth?”

“Ser Brienne.” Brienne looked up to find Jaime standing beside her on her left. Arya soon followed on her right. “Ser Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime corrected again.

Salladhor’s smile was bright. “I believe I was correct in my assumption about your loss of maidenhead,” he laughed.

Jaime raised his stump. “She is a lady --”

“I thought you just said she was a Ser,” Salladhor pointed out, and then knocked on the table loudly. The young woman who had sat on his lap came back out. “More drinks for my friends! And do you have rooms for the noble knights?”

“We will pitch tents on the ride home tonight,” Brienne said, unwilling to stay longer. The outdoors was better especially when the weather was being so well-behaved.

“I’d rather stay here,” Arya cut in.

“Arya,” Brienne whispered, and Salladhor Saan’s ear pricked up at the name.

“Are you Arya Stark?" he demanded. Arya only shrugged in response and the pirate beamed. "Lady Arya Stark!” he whistled. “I have heard you have come back from your journey west of Westeros. Not even I, the best pirate in the world, have dared to go farther than the Iron Islands. What did you find?”

“Come back to the castle with us and find out,” Arya said, her tone determined. It reminded Brienne of Lady Catelyn. “Bring your men too. I am sure we can find space for you somewhere.”

Brienne agreed, too surprised at Arya’s politicking to do otherwise. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Salladhor Saan only laughed again. “Perhaps I will,” he agreed. “While your tents are set up for my men.”

“There will be many noble guests about,” Brienne said. “Will your men behave themselves?”

Salladhor leaned forward and held out his hand for her to shake. “On my pirate’s honor.” She grasped his hand in a promise and fervently prayed to the Mother that she would not regret it.

But already he had broken a promise for she never did have her question answered -- about why he did not join Stannis. Davos had mentioned it to her months before her father passed on. 

It was only after hours of Arya's storytelling (which Brienne begged off on, having heard some of it before, and eager to avoid Jaime's pressing glances) to the pirate that Brienne was able to ask Arya about why she was so insistent on bringing the pirate back, as grateful as she was for the intercession. “You do not want pirates hanging on your shoreline, Brienne,” Arya whispered. They shared a room and a bed but still, they knew Salladhor Saan slept next door, his ears eager for any slip of information. If he was across the hall like Jaime, perhaps then they could have spoken louder but it was not worth the risk. “Even if their intentions are honorable no one else will see it so. Half of the world will not show up out of fear you cannot control your seas.”

“But pirates on my land will assure them?”

“You can lock them up easily when they are on your land, Brienne,” Arya said as if this was obvious. And, well, _it was,_ Brienne realized upon thinking on it further. She felt as stupid as she did with sewing needles. 

Brienne knew that Arya’s prickliness was not personal but stemmed from fear upon seeing Gendry again. It would be the first time since the Council that they had seen each other and they had not spoken then, Arya avoiding Gendry’s heartbroken gaze. 

_Still unmarried,_ Brienne remembered again, looking at Arya’s back. She rode ahead of them all, not willing to speak to any of them after they left the inn that morning. It was strange how she wanted to delay the inevitable by staying at the inn the night before and then to hurry back to get the meeting over with -- it made Brienne suspect that Arya did not know what she wanted. 

Something Brienne understood quite well. 

Jaime hummed beside her, his horse close to hers. “Do you think she’ll marry him?” he asked, once again speaking about the subject she was thinking of -- if it was not so helpful it would have annoyed her. Knowing the connection between them was still unsevered only made the pain of losing him worse and she tried to ignore the sharp ache in her heart as she answered his question.

“No,” Brienne replied. “She’ll remain unmarried.”

“I disagree,” Jaime said, his voice firm.

Brienne sniffed. “Salladhor Saan will arrive at the dock closer to Evenfall Hall soon, I shall have to send men out to greet and guide them to the castle --”

“Don’t change the subject,” Jaime said. “We are allowed to disagree --”

“It doesn’t matter what we think,” she shot back, interrupting. “The only thing that matters is Arya’s opinion.”

“Not Gendry’s?”

“Not as much as hers.”

“And why is that?”

Brienne did not look at him. “We have everything taken from us as women in this world, do not take away this too, Jaime.”

“I’m not doing any sort of thing,” he replied, his voice pained enough for Brienne to look over at him. 

He was looking down at where his right hand used to be, his face conflicted. Brienne recalled kissing it one night, long ago, and wished she could scrub the memory of that night away -- as much as she wished she could forget how he lost his hand, saving her from rape. The wind tousled his growing greying golden hair and he looked up, greeting her gaze with a startled one of his own.

It almost took her breath away, to see him look at her like that again. His eyes were so wide, his lips were slightly open, and if they had not been on horses, she might have made a terrible mistake. But as it was, Brienne was saved from herself. “Come now, we must hurry to catch up with Arya,” she made herself say and jostled the reins.

She could not love him again.

_She couldn't._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! This summer in general has been terribly busy -- I think I'll have the next chapter out much sooner than this one came out. Also coming up is JB Week so expect a bunch of different stories from me that first week of October!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moon was as full as Tyrion's wine goblet at a feast and as white as Winterfell’s snows in the dead of winter.
> 
> “It reminds me of your sigil,” Tyrion said, coming up beside her. She had not realized she had moved away from him and walked towards the window. “I suppose whoever you marry will be wearing your cloak instead of you wearing his.”
> 
> “I suppose so,” Brienne agreed. 
> 
> “Will you not consider --” he stopped. “Brienne, you must know my brother --”
> 
> “Do not speak of Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, didn't edit this as much as I typically do -- I wanted to post it! Let me know if you see any egregious mistakes but other than that enjoy~

When Brienne awoke, the room was dark as ink. The sun had not yet risen but she could hear the thundering sounds of workers beyond her window, preparing the castle for Gendry and his men as well as the other guests that had not yet arrived. Her steward had greeted the Lord Paramount in her stead the night before since she had not arrived until much too late. They visited a few other villages on their way home from speaking to the pirate Salladhor Saan. There were more troubles than she liked afoot before the tourney -- hints of bandits in the mountains the worst of it. She hoped Jaime would send out men to find them soon but for now... she could do nothing. 

_(And I hate that.)_

Light from the sun began to creep at the bottom of her windowsill and she wondered why she was awake. By her estimate, she only had four hours of sleep, barely enough to treasure before the day arrived. She wondered if Arya slept at all.

Gendry was in the castle now, not far from Brienne’s rooms, but she did not want to bother the sleeping lord when she arrived, hoping that he would forgive her for waiting until morning. He would like to know of Salladhor Saan and the pirates, she was sure of it.

But most likely he wouldn’t be able to hear a word of what she said, his mind too full of a Northern girl.

She resisted a sigh as she pushed the sheets off herself. The meeting between the Stark and Baratheon was not something she was looking forward to -- they would both be sullen and coarse and until more jovial arrivals appeared (such as the wildling Tormund who would be attending the tourney “to see the big woman” Jon Snow had written in his letter, clearly amused), it would be tense. 

Perhaps a pirate would be a relief. 

For Robin Arryn would be here soon -- as would Lord Edmure Tully and his family.

As would Bronn and his bouncing babes. Brienne grimaced at the idea of Bronn but expected Jaime would look forward to his erstwhile friend. If Jaime chose to speak to Bronn or anyone else at all. After her reticent answers the day before, he went ahead and rode silently next to Arya while Brienne kept an eye on the road and the sea (she itched to swim in it but there had been no time and she expected it was still too cold, despite the warming weather. Still, perhaps soon she could...). And in the villages, Jaime only listened to the villagers, his mouth firm and displeased. Arya was the only saving grace there for she could connect with anyone whether it was a child or a worried mother or an old warrior. She kept the crowds calm while Brienne listened (and tried not to look at Jaime's stupidly handsome face).

“Brienne!” a shout from behind the door interrupted any musings she might have dipped into. It was soon followed by a series of knockings. “Lord Baratheon is asking for you!” her steward shouted. Brienne looked down at herself and grimaced.

She was still in her shift. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she called out, knowing how irritated she sounded. She was surprised Gendry was asking for her though -- and so early. When she arrived in the Great Hall, her steward far behind since he was not able to catch up with her long-legged walk, Gendry was there. And so was _Arya_ who was beaming up at him. A look of affection on her face that Brienne had never seen grace the littlest Stark. Brienne could not see Gendry’s face, but she saw how his hand caressed Arya’s hair. Her heart tightened at the sight. “Lord Baratheon,” Brienne greeted with a bow. She was reluctant to break the two apart, but... he did ask after her.

Gendry turned around a full beard on his face, making him look much older than he truly was. His hair had thinned out, reminding Brienne of Stannis but that was the only similarity between him and his uncle that she killed. His smile reminded her of Renly, his uncle that she had loved. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, sounding genuine. Brienne smiled in response.

“I am happy to welcome you to Tarth.”

Arya laughed -- at what Brienne was unsure -- and pulled at Gendry’s sleeve to whisper something in his ear. He laughed as well. Brienne stood there awkwardly or as awkward as her steward would let her. He poked her side and looked up at her with dismay. Perhaps he hoped she would have married Gendry but it must be obvious that it could not be…

“I see you have reacquainted yourselves,” Brienne ventured.

Gendry grinned, looking more like the boy he had been before the Long Night than this stranger with a beard. Perhaps this smile belonged to the boy he had been before _everything_ had happened. Arya, however, suddenly took a step aside from Gendry, perhaps realizing what it looked like. She spoke before he could, “It’s been a long time,” she said. “And I ran into him in the hall.”

Gendry’s eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth but Arya shot him such a fierce look that he closed his mouth just as quickly, coughing instead. “Yes, that's true.”

“Would you like a tour of the castle?” Brienne asked after the silence grew too thick and unbearable.

“I’ll show him around,” Arya piped up and took Gendry’s arm. 

Brienne glanced at her friend, bewildered. “But you have just arrived --”

Arya shrugged, a smile dancing behind her dark eyes. “I already looked everywhere, I know your home nearly as well as you, I suspect.”

Gendry grinned as well, his smile matching his lady love's. “You and I will speak later, Ser Brienne, we must after all, but…”

After all of Arya’s talk about ignoring Gendry when he arrived, Brienne was almost annoyed at their sudden reignited interest in one another. But it was not as if she could politely deny her sworn lord. “As you say, my lord.”

Gendry and Arya exchanged wide grins and soon quickly left Brienne and her steward. She glanced towards him. “Why exactly why I was awoken?”

Her steward patted his stomach and looked away from her, turning pink. “He, uh, did ask for you, my lady.”

“He wanted to see me and then… speak with me later?”

“It would seem that way,” her steward tutted, his blush deepening.

Brienne sighed. “I might as well make myself useful now that I am awake. Where are we at with the provisions? And who is the next expected guest?”

“We have several coming within a sennight -- nearly all should be here within a fortnight.”

“Will we be ready for them all?” she asked, thinking of the Martell prince. He suggested in his letter that he would bring many of the houses in Dorne with him -- to prove their strength. Brienne suspected they wanted their own independence -- or at least a great acknowledgment of their rights. The Dornish wanted to be self-sufficient and to lead without King Bran the Wise at their backs. Brienne did not care for what they hoped -- she was more concerned that they would be adding fuel to the fire with Meereen in order to meet their own goals. 

“For all but the King and his company we shall be ready," her steward announced. "King Bran shall be bringing the largest company -- well he and the Meereense, but you remember what Ser Davos’ last letter said?”

That the Meereenese would not dock until the King had arrived. They would wait off her shores, the way the pirate had wanted to (before Arya persuaded him otherwise), refusing to treat until King Bran was at Evenfall Hall. Brienne only worried that Daario would try to attack her land after everyone had arrived and had instructed Jaime to make sure they could not do so. “Is Ser Jaime awake?” she asked her steward who frowned at her question. He knew of their past, one of the few on the island who did put two and two together, and disapproved of Ser Jaime’s presence. He thought Jaime would be a reminder of her lost honor or rather her lost maidenhead. But no one else seemed to notice Jaime although now that his hair was growing again a few maids were giving him longing looks.

“He should be in the training yard, but since Arya is not there I assume --”

“I will check,” she said, “as I need to remind him that we need to establish our defenses.”

Her steward’s mouth twitched. “As you say. But you did ask who was coming next after Lord Baratheon. I expect more houses from our neighboring Stormlands will be arriving soon. Including,” he took a breath before speaking, “the Conningtons.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “They want nothing from me and made that quite clear when I was just a girl.” _Ronnet Connington did anyhow._

“But now you have the ear of a King,” her steward insisted. 

Brienne shook her head. “ _He_ will only want to try and humiliate me, well,” her voice was firm, “ _let’s see him try._ ”

Jaime wasn’t in the training yard. She would have looked elsewhere but then there were problems in the kitchens and then Gendry wanted to finally speak to her, although when she found him, she immediately noticed that his neck was red and marked with bites. She was polite enough not to say a word but she wondered if he even realized the marks were there. 

The first time Jaime had marked her she had not noticed for half a day until Sansa pulled her aside. “Ser Brienne, I suggest wearing higher necks. It is cold in the north.” 

“What do you mean” Brienne had said, bewildered by her Queen's tone. “I am quite comfortable.”

It was then that a smile appeared on Sansa’s face. “Come here,” she said, pulling Brienne to a mirror. “Turn your head and look.”

Brienne had turned as red as the mark on her neck when she realized what Jaime had done. “I am so sorry for appearing like this --”

“It is all right,” Sansa laughed. “I’m glad you’re finding happiness. Even with a _Lannister._ ” Her smile soured then. “Be careful with him -- that’s what he will be in the end.”

“But what about Tyrion?”

“What about him?” Sansa asked, her voice soft. “I was married to him against my will and I do not love him. I trust him more than I trust most but that is only because he has always been kind to me.”

“Jaime has been kind to me.”

Sansa’s smile reawoke. “ _But not to your neck_ ,” she observed wryly.

Brienne touched her neck now, her fingers tracing the muscles underneath. “Ser Brienne?” Gendry asked, noticing her pause. “What is it?”

“Are you sure of what you’re doing, Gendry?” she asked him, moving her hand off her neck. "Are you truly sure?"

“With the shipments?” he asked, confusion overtaking his face. “I think so.”

“With Arya.”

Shame chased away the confusion on his face until the shock of anger chased away both. “It’s not your concern,” he growled at her. He did sound like Stannis then. Renly could not make such a noise. _And Robert..._

Brienne tread carefully. “She is a noble lady under my protection.”

“Arya is not a lady, she says so herself. And she needs no one’s protection.”

“She can’t change who she is,” Brienne said, thinking of Lady Catelyn, “and she has it whether she needs it or not. It is my duty to serve her, I swore it to her mother.”

Gendry stared up at her. “You can’t stop us, you know. And you're duty is to serve me. I'm your sworn lord.”

“I know. But I do not worry over _her_ , my lord.”

Gendry flushed. “I don’t need your worry --”

“You need heirs as much as I do,” she said. "More so, in fact."

He snorted and rubbed his beard. “If you’re about to propose marriage, I already told my advisors no. Not because of _you_ ,” Gendry hurried to add, looking as if he wished the earth would swallow him whole. But they were too far up for that to happen, speaking in her antechamber with the door firmly closed. “But because --”

“You’re in love with Arya Stark,” Brienne said. “And she will not marry you. And so you remain unmarried.”

“I didn’t ask her to marry me this time,” Gendry said. “I asked her if we could be friends again. And, well,” he coughed.

Brienne wanted to smile but couldn't bear the weight of it. “If you want her, never ask her.”

“But then how will she marry me?”

“She may never marry you.”

Gendry pushed himself off his seat. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “I - I’ll --”

“You’ll what, my lord?”

He sat right back down, looking beaten. As beaten as Jaime looked after a bout with Arya. “How do you do it?” Gendry asked her, his eyes meeting hers. “How do you stay with the Kingslayer so near and not fuck him?”

Brienne gaped. “You know Jaime is here?” she said first, unwilling to comprehend the rest of his question.

“Arya told me. She said you weren’t fucking and I didn’t understand it. You have him back now -- why don’t you marry him? Wouldn't that solve your problem?”

“It’s not simple.”

“It is simple. You love each other, that’s all that matters,” he said firmly. “You both have the right, highborn, fancy names and _need each other_. You can have your heirs without this stupid tourney dictating who you will marry.”

“I’ll win the tourney.”

“Will you?” Gendry looked doubtful. “I’ve never seen you joust before. I believe you could win the melee, I’ve seen you fight but --”

“I will win.” _I have no choice._

Gendry placed his face in his hands. “I hope I’m not driven to something like a tourney deciding my fate,” he said, his voice muffled. 

“I wish you could marry Arya,” she said, his honesty and worry touching her. “I think you would be happy but she is still young.”

“Most girls marry much younger,” he pointed out, removing his face from his hands.

Brienne frowned. “To their displeasure nearly half the time. It makes little sense to have so many marry so young.”

“I heard Bran was going to outlaw marriages under sixteen,” Gendry said. “He sees everything so he must agree with you.”

“I wish it was eighteen,” Brienne said, but knew the lords and smallfolk alike might revolt. Marriages made people happy and in a world where so much was still falling apart, it would not be wise to tear it apart. “But I suppose it is better than what we have.”

“He is a good King I think,” Gendry said, his eyes flickering. “Better than my father. Or my uncles.”

“Stannis is dead,” she said, her voice thick. She felt as though she failed Sansa all over again every time his name was brought up. But Renly’s ghost comforted her spirit. “And Renly would have been a good King.”

“You still believe that?”

It was almost as if he was _Jaime_. Unwilling to think highly of the first man she had loved. _Or thought I loved._ “Better than what we had available at the time,” Brienne admitted. “Although I wish Lady Catelyn could have ruled us all.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well her daughter is Queen in the North and her son is King of everything else,” Gendry japed although his smile was sad. “I just wish her other daughter would agree to rule over the Stormlands with me. I still have no idea what I’m doing -- or what fork to use.”

Brienne smiled. “Neither does Bronn and he rules the Reach.”

Gendry laughed. “By the Seven and the Old and Rhllor, I hope we don’t drive our six kingdoms into the ground.”

“I don’t believe Bran would allow that.”

“ _Or you_ ,” Gendry said, giving her a look. “You’re already saving us by setting up the tourney. I’ve heard the smallfolk singing of it already. This has given us something to look forward to -- something to celebrate as spring clears our skies. This will give us peace with the Meereenese.”

She thought of the ships that would soon be waiting outside her shores. “I hope you are right.”

“I am,” he said, stubborn. “And you’re wrong about Arya, I think. Did you think she would even speak to me?”

Brienne admitted she hadn’t and he smiled, smug. “I’ve learned a few things while she’s been gone, Brienne. And I know her better than she thinks I do -- adventurer or Faceless Man or whatever she calls herself now, I know her. I love her and I want her beside me. I can’t marry anyone but her. It wouldn’t be right.”

“But if you don’t who will inherit?”

Gendry shrugged. “Let’s hope I live forever,” he grinned. “After all, we have a three-eyed raven as King and I’ve known men who’ve come back from the dead including your Jaime. Why couldn’t I live forever?”

* * *

Brienne did not find Jaime until dinner. Arya had abandoned her usual seat beside him to sit beside Gendry (who was seated at Brienne’s right) and now he was sitting practically by himself, surrounded by strangers he did not know, pushing around his mutton with his fork, his face placid. He spoke to no one, as far as she could see, seated on the dais. 

“The Kingslayer looks so different,” Gendry said to her, noticing where she was looking. “I didn’t recognize him until Arya pointed him out earlier today.”

“Where was he?”

“Training with my men out in the fields,” Gendry smiled. “I want them ready for anything.”

“So do I,” Brienne agreed. “Although. . . I hope for peace.”

“As do I! It will be much better if the Meereenese settle this with words rather than weapons although if we can face dead things trying to kill us, I think we can face them.”

Arya struggled to be heard over the din of glasses clinking and laughter but spoke loud enough that Brienne could hear her without straining. “Jaime was doing better than he has been, you know. He was wobbling like a child when I first sparred with him.”

“Arya’s been training _with_ Jaime,” Brienne said, attempting to be tactful.

Arya snorted. “Been training him as if he was my squire, you mean.” She gazed at Gendry. “I bet I’ll have to train you too if you’re to enter the tourney.”

“I’m not entering,” Gendry assured his lady with a smile. “I’m here to watch.”

“You should enter the melee, my lord,” Brienne said. “It would look as if you’re weak if you do not.”

Gendry shrugged. “I like making weapons more than I like using them. Arya can fight in my stead.”

Arya brightened. “Could I?”

“You’ll have to wear my favor if you do,” Gendry said, swirling his wine, his tone neutral. Brienne could see the smile in his eyes and glanced over at Arya to see if she saw it as well.

She could, but Arya grinned anyhow. Perhaps she had missed Gendry more than she had been willing to admit. “Only if you wear a dress when you give your favor to me.”

Gendry barked a laugh and grinned back at his lover. “I can’t imagine I’d look good in one.”

“About as good as I would look, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Arya.

Arya smiled back at him, a warmth in her manner that Brienne had never had a chance to know or see before. She wondered if Sansa had or if this Arya was a person only Gendry knew. Perhaps it was why Arya loved him even if she was unwilling to admit to it. . .

Brienne suddenly felt like an intruder in her own home. “Excuse me, my lord,” she said, although was quite sure Gendry did not hear her, and then she left the dais, finding her way to the side hall, grateful that that increasingly crowded hall did not notice her leave.

She kept walking through the hall, wondering where she ought to go, watching the moonlight shade her path. Somehow, when she heard steps behind her, she knew it would be Jaime.

Until she looked behind her and it wasn’t him.

It was his brother.

“Ser,” Tyrion said, bowing with a smile. “May I have a word?” 

“What is it, Tyrion?” she asked, annoyed.

He came up to her, his smile disappearing, whispering and gesturing they should keep walking. “I wanted to ask about Arya and Gendry…”

“Why do you care?” she snapped.

He did not recoil. “Because I’m the Hand of the King and marriages matter,” he snapped back, any trace of his earlier smile gone from his eyes as well as his face now. “Do you not remember why this tourney exists?” She shut up then and he continued speaking as if she had not interrupted. “I suggest you encourage this -- it would allow us to keep ties with the North…”

“The Riverlands have ties,” Brienne said. “As does the Vale. Why do we need more ties? You know Sansa will never leave the North again.”

“The more the better,” Tyrion replied. “They will be our partner -- if we need them and we will need them if war comes to us again from Essos.”

“Do you truly think it will come to that then?”

“Not now,” he said, waving his hands. “I know this will work. It has to,” he said firmly. “But the future is long and eventually the Stepstones will be an annoyance again or the Braavosi will want more gold and war will occur. The North is a powerful ally to have.”

“Have you written to Sansa at all?” Brienne asked.

“Of course I have.”

“Then why is the allyship of the North in suspect?”

“It’s not _now_ \-- haven’t you been listening? I’m thinking long -- longer than perhaps either of us will be alive. Our children’s wars, you know.”

“Leaders haven’t thought like that in a long time, Tyrion,” Brienne said, half in awe, half in exasperation. “If they ever have.”

“King Jaehaerys I did as did his lovely sister-wife or else we wouldn't have our roads.” Tyrion shook his head. “No wonder Jaime and Cersei believed they were in the right. Look at our history. _Targaryens_ \--”

Queen Daenerys’ face appeared in front of Brienne, beautiful and deadly. She once was kind, Brienne knew. Had heard enough to believe it. She was loved and lovely. But... “Are you planning everyone’s marriages then, Tyrion? Everyone’s but your own?” she pointed out.

Tyrion pursed his lips and it was only the light of the moon and stars that allowed her to see the bags under his eyes. _He was tired._ “If you find a lady of wealth and nobility and kindness willing to love and marry a dwarf, then please let me know.”

“Love then?”

“I do not think it’s always advantageous to marry only for allies, look at Robert and Cersei. Look at Lysa Tully and Jon Arryn.” Tyrion motioned for her to bend down and so she did. His voice was quiet. “Ned and Catelyn Stark were fortunate -- some are. I fear Bronn might be one of them, his Florent wife seems to understand him very well -- worryingly so if I’m frank with you, Brienne. The japes she makes could turn your hair white...” 

“Who would you want to marry if you could, Tyrion?” Brienne asked, interrupting. She was curious as to who this man could love.

“A dead queen. A dead lover. A dead wife.” His smile was lopsided. “A living queen quite possibly in love with someone else. I tend to pick those types.”

“You’re in love with Sansa?” The idea baffled her.

Tyrion laughed. “No, but...” His face became somber, “I think I could have been. If we kept our marriage pact. But it was not a true marriage. Forced for both of us -- she was a child so it was never consummated.”

“I know,” Brienne spoke. “I know that.” 

“Of course you do, she told you nearly everything." Tyrion eyed her with curiosity. "I still find it strange you served Bran and not her.”

“She asked me to.”

Tyrion laughed again. “No wonder you think me strange for trying to cement as many connections to the North as possible when you're one yourself. Ah, well.” His smile turned crooked. “Perhaps your child could marry one of Sansa’s.”

“You’re assuming Sansa bears children.” _And that I do._

“Oh, she will… eventually.” He did not sound pleased about it, Brienne noticed. “She was born to rule and born to be a mother. She’ll have sons named Ned and Robb and Rickon. And a daughter named Catelyn with hair as red as hers.”

“Are you the new Three-Eyed Raven?” Brienne asked as dryly as she could muster.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “If you cannot see the obvious, then I cannot help you, Ser Brienne. It doesn’t take our King’s powers to see what will happen once Queen Sansa admits to her truth.” 

At this moment, Brienne’s knees began to hurt from bending down so long and so she stood up to her full length. She looked out the windows that framed the hall. The moon was as full as Tyrion's wine goblet at the feast and as white as Winterfell’s snows in the dead of winter.

“It reminds me of your sigil,” Tyrion said, coming up beside her. She had not realized she had moved away from him and walked towards the window. “I suppose whoever you marry will be wearing your cloak instead of you wearing his.”

“I suppose so,” Brienne agreed. 

“Will you not consider --” Tyrion stopped. “Brienne, you must know my brother --”

“Do not speak of Jaime,” she warned. 

For a moment, she thought as though he would force it, but instead, he sighed. “Then my cousin? Daven isn't as handsome but he is kind --”

“Tyrion.”

He shook his head. “Well, I tried,” he said, glum. “I know this tourney is a grand idea, but I do worry you will end up marrying exactly the sort of person you ought not to marry. Don’t find yourself trapped like Cersei or Lysa, Brienne. Both grew mad from the lack of love and respect. If you must do this, insist that respect is there if not love.”

She glanced down at him. “Why are you so worried over me, Tyrion?”

“It’s not only out of selfish concern for you,” he japed before his eyes turned serious. “It’s because poor marriages ruin a kingdom and one ruined kingdom can ruin five others. And you have pointed out to me before how important this island is -- and how important you are personally to Sansa. I feel as though she and Arya both will kill me if I see you hurt in this process.”

Brienne looked up at the moon. The light was so bright. “If that were true they would have Jaime killed and he’s still standing, isn’t he?”

“For now…” Tyrion said with caution. “Although I have seen how Arya treats him in the training yard and I have to say, that kind of vengeance is almost more fitting. His bruises are the size of melons!” He chuckled.

Brienne did not. "Goodnight, _Lord Tyrion_."

He sighed. "Goodnight, Brienne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't personally ship Sansa x Tyrion but I understand the appeal so I threw a hint of it here for those that do. I have my own Sansa ship that will not be making an appearance in this story (and you can easily guess what it is if you look at my other works lol) but I might do a one-shot of it in this same universe after this tale is finished.
> 
> Gendrya was actually a surprise for me on how fast they reconnected but I couldn't get Arya to leave him alone. ;)
> 
> And I know -- no Jaime! But he wanted to hide and I realized that Brienne needed to miss him. She hasn't really had a chance to do so since they've landed on uneven ground with each other since his appointment as Master of Arms. Next chapter should have a ridiculous # of arrivals including like.... practically everyone. 
> 
> And it will be probably appearing in 2-3 weeks due to JB Week next week! Come back around for 7 stories all centered on JB by many many authors next week. It's always fun.


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